


Clan Lukra: general drabbles, volume 1

by Lukra (49percentchanceofbees)



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-09-12 05:19:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 77
Words: 41,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16866865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/Lukra
Summary: General drabbles and history of Clan Lukra up to early 2019, archived from Tumblr. Distinct arcs and multipart writing posted separately in same pseud.FR tumblr/clan profile & lair





	1. Chapter 1

“Fine!” Delemont shouted after his one-time family’s receding tails. “I’ll start my own clan, see if I don’t! And it’ll be better than yours, too!”  
  
“Ooh, do you want to?”  
  
Delemont turned to find a Tundra dragon calmly watching his supposedly private family drama. “What do you want?” he snarled.  
  
The Tundra didn’t blink, just kept staring at him. “Same thing you do: to start a clan. I’ve already picked the perfect place for a lair and everything. Want to have some eggs?”  
  
“I barely know you, and you want to start a family? I don’t even know your name!”  
  
“That’s easy; I’m Nesita.” A fatuous grin: What an idiot. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Just thought it might work out. I’ll be in the Crystalspine Reaches if you change your mind.”  
  
She turned away. Good riddance, Delemont thought.  
  
Except… he was hungry, and it was coming on cold; there was no one else around, and his family had made it abundantly clear that he was no longer welcome in their lair. Weren’t Tundras supposed to be really good at burrowing? He could use a nice, warm tunnel right now.  
  
“Wait,” he said, thinking, If she makes even the beginning of a snide comment I will tear off her face. “I’ll come with you.”  
  
The utterly delighted grin that Nesita leveled at him very nearly made him change his mind. “Great! Welcome to the family!”


	2. Chapter 2

“All right, that’s the last of the sparrowmice… ugh, what pathetic weaklings. Wait, do you hear something?” Delemont turned to see, for the second time in a day, a strange dragon whose approach he hadn’t noticed staring at him. “Hey, Nesita, this Coatl a friend of yours?”  
  
“No, I don’t think we’ve met… Wait. You’re from the Fennel clan, aren’t you?” Nesita turned her friendly smile on the Coatl. Well, I guess I’m not special, Delemont thought. Good. He didn’t want to occupy a particular place in Nesita’s affections; she might have been a good fighter, but by the Arcanist, she was annoying.  
  
“Fennel.” The dragon’s head bobbed. Her voice was oddly breathy, somewhere between rushed and hesitant. “Want to fight with you.”  
  
“Oh, do you?” Delemont felt a smile come over his face. “Cool. I’ll take you on anytime, pumpkin; let’s go.”  
  
The Coatl scuttled back as he pounced; words seemed to fail her, and she could only desperately shove a pile of honeycomb and amber towards them.  
  
“Wait, Delemont!” Nesita caught her clan-mate by the scruff of his neck just before he could lacerate the Coatl, never mind her rubbish heap. “I think by ‘fight with us,’ she means beside us, not against us. How about it? Do you want to join our clan?”  
  
“Friends.” The Coatl nodded gratefully, scampering over to Nesita as the Tundra dragon released Delemont. “Zura and friends.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Well, we’ve cleared out this part of the woodland path,” Delemont declared. As usual, he effaced annoyance at something that Nesita knew too well pleased him very much. “Go on, Zura, see what you can pick up; you like scavenging.”  
  
The Coatl probably didn’t know what he was saying, but she was accustomed to her role and darted forward to distill the beasts’ corpses into usable loot. Nesita hoped she’d be able to gather some bamboo: she was hungry.  
  
An excited squeak from Zura: the Coatl fluttered back carrying what looked like a round bundle of magma and molten rock. A fire egg! Nesita felt her spirits soar. She hadn’t expected to get so lucky – certainly not so soon!  
  
“An egg?” Delemont said. He looked at Nesita. “I suppose you want to hatch it.”  
  
“Of course! We have to expand our clan. Besides,” she added, appealing to what she already knew of the Mirror dragon’s proclivities, “adding dragons of different elements will help us in battle.”  
  
“Fine, but I’m not babysitting; I can’t stand hatchlings underfoot.”  
  
“Hatch?” asked Zura, tilting her head and looking between her clan-mates. Her gaze made it clear that she’d understood little of the exchange.  
  
Nesita nodded, and a moment later a floppy little Guardian dragon squirmed in Zura’s talons, hide shivering as she tried to flick away bits of rocky eggshell. Smiling, Nesita took the hatchling from Zura, who clearly had not expected the business to be quite so messy.


	4. Chapter 4

“Gods!” Delemont roared. “What in the Arcanist’s name is that Coatl screeching about?”  
  
She wouldn’t have expressed herself the same way, but Nesita had to admit that Zura’s calls were unmelodious at the best of times, and now – the Coatl’s keening had little sent little Geras scurrying for cover under Nesita’s wings. It couldn’t be good for the eggs.  
  
“Maybe she’s hurt,” Nesita said. “She was scavenging in the Sunbeam Ruins, right? She might have run into trouble.”  
  
The Tundra dragon set Geras aside and headed for the lair’s exit. Delemont trailed behind her, muttering, “Unless she’s found a fragment of the Pillar itself, I am going to strangle Zura.”  
  
Zura had not found a fragment of the Pillar; she had entered the lair holding her prize aloft, and added a word to her shriek: “Egg!”  
  
“Twice in two days?” Delemont said, so surprised that he almost forgot to sound angry. “We must have the Arcanist’s own luck.”  
  
How lucky could the Arcanist possibly be? Nesita wondered. Hadn’t their god contributed, terribly, to releasing the Shade? She didn’t want to blaspheme, of course, but perhaps they could ask for a higher level of serendipity.  
  
To return to the present situation: Zura was dancing in excitement that didn’t seem entirely safe for the egg, the Light-element golden shell slipping in her talons. Geras had followed her clan-mates and was attempting to imitate Zura with a hilarious lack of coordination. Delemont looked about ready to bite someone.  
  
“Good job, Zura!” Nesita said, taking the egg from the Coatl – and taking charge of the situation. Zura didn’t seem to mind: she took to dancing with Geras. “Let’s meet our new clan-mate.”  
  
A moment later, a floppy Guardian hatchling rested in Nesita’s talons, apparently exhausted by the effort of emerging from the egg.  
  
“Ugly little fellow, isn’t he?” Delemont commented, wrinkling his nose at the hatchling’s combination of scarlet and dark green. “But I suppose it’ll be nice to have another male around here. Let’s call him Rakgi.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t understand why this isn’t working!” Rakgi shouted.

“What’s the matter?” Geras asked, looking up from her meal.

“No matter how hard I try, I can’t breathe fire!” The Guardian shot his clan-mate a wild-eyed look. “All that comes out is smoke.”

“Rakgi, you’re four days old,” Bartos said calmly. “You’re still a baby. That’s why you haven’t got a beard yet, either.”

“Geras can breathe fire.”

“Don’t bring me into this,” Geras said quickly. “I’m going to go get some more food.” The young Guardian scurried off.

“Geras is a Fire dragon,” Bartos pointed out. “It’s only to be expected that she experiences some natural affinity for her element.”

Rakgi paused, head tilted. “What?”

“Oh, for the Arcanist’s sake – Fire dragons breathe fire earlier than the rest of us. We have to wait till we’re older.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Gods only know.” Bartos returned to his reading.


	6. Chapter 6

Geras paused while sorting through the food stores. She’d heard, as she left, Bartos saying that as a Fire-aligned dragon, she should be able to breathe fire earlier than the other hatchlings. It was also true that she’d spat sparks and licks of flame a few times; now she wondered just how far her capabilities extended. Perhaps she could take a moment to test…

 _Fire’s dangerous_ , she reminded herself. Things could go wrong. But Nesita and Delemont weren’t home; the only adult in the lair was Zura, who shouldn’t prove any trouble, being rather hard of hearing.

Experimentally, Geras opened her mouth, made an effort… and produced only a truly horrible hacking sound and a bit of spittle. Ugh. She hurriedly wiped off a rather unfortunate stack of Red-winged Dewbugs, only to have one of the bugs, which had apparently been stunned rather than properly dead, suddenly come alive and, with a terrifying buzzing noise, leap straight into her face.

From Geras’s jaws came something unfortunately like a scream and a massive gout of flames. She fell backwards, struggled back to her feet, and saw the about half of the clan’s food stocks blazing.

“Oh,  _Flamecaller_ ,” she said.

A tiny green head poked into the room. “Did something – oh. Fire.”

“Yes, fire,” Geras said, her voice rather more strained than Kelsus’ standard monotone. She strived for something like calm. “I seem to have had an accident.”

“Could be worse.”

As the fire carried to one of the vines that Nesita had strung all through the lair for “a homey touch” and ran along it out of the room, Geras looked at the Fae and had absolutely no idea whether he was joking.

“Do you want to go get some water or something? Maybe some help?” Geras’ tone verged on passive-aggressive, but fortunately, Kelsus didn’t notice.

“That would be wise.” He fluttered away, and Geras fell to trying to build firebreaks around what was left of the food supplies. Somehow she imagined that she was never going to hear the end of this.


	7. Chapter 7

Adrenaline pumped through Geras, making it difficult for her to hold still, but she forced herself to look dignified and calm. It was her first time battling monsters, and she was not going to ruin it; she’d make her clan proud.

The Stranglers rose from the Woodland Path’s leaf litter, leafy jaws gaping. Beside Geras, Delemont and Nesita leapt into battle, roaring; caught off-guard, the Guardian hesitated, then jumped after them with a…

A squeak. She could see both her clan-mates’ heads spin around at the awkward, cracked noise that came out of her mouth. Unable to meet their eyes, she turned her focus to her chosen target, a Blooming Strangler resplendent in autumnal colors, but she had a feeling that she would hear of this again.

And so she did. At last they dispatched all of the Stranglers, and Delemont immediately turned to Geras. “What in the Arcanist’s name was that?”

“I, um… I think my voice cracked.” Geras tried not to meet the Mirror dragon’s eyes. She may have been larger than him, but Delemont’s sharp tongue made up for anything he lacked in size.

“Leave her alone, Delemont; she’s still growing,” Nesita said, her voice light, but with a steely edge.

“Hmph. I guess I have heard worse, with that Coatl around.” Delemont began to check the dead Stranglers for loot. “At least you’re not afraid to get your claws dirty.”

“Don’t worry about it, Geras,” Nesita said kindly. “Going through an awkward phase is just part of growing up.”

Geras played with her new jewelry, feeling the unaccustomed pull of her haori’s silk across her shoulders. Between this and [the last time something unexpected had come out of her mouth](http://lukrasclan.tumblr.com/post/100381663534/geras-paused-while-sorting-through-the-food), she wasn’t feeling entirely confident. When had she gotten so big?

The Tundra, who not so long ago had been able to hold Geras in her talons, head-butted the Guardian in the shoulder and failed to make any impact. “You’ll do better next time. Now let’s get home; you look exhausted. I think you might need to try the Training Field for a while before we come back here.”


	8. Chapter 8

_What kind of familiar would you like? Oh, a plant snake, of course!_

Zura looked glumly at her new Strangler. It was coiled on the opposite side of her chamber, hissing a bit. She wasn’t quite sure why she was now the owner of a wary new familiar; she hadn’t been able to catch what Nesita had said when draping the creature over her. Neither had she been able to find the words to protest, so now she lived with a beast that had been trying to kill her on the battlefield not so long ago. How was she supposed to sleep at night?

Well, she was tired enough to try to find out. “Don’t kill me in my sleep, please,” she told the Strangler in Coatl. It didn’t respond, of course. It wasn’t that big, and her clan-mates would surely hear her if she woke up in the middle of the night screaming because was trying to live up to its name, right?

Zura woke in the morning nicely un-strangled. Or so she thought, until she started to stretch and realized that her scarf wasn’t the only thing around her neck. The snake was draped there too, loose and limp enough to be a vine – but its weight was heavy across her shoulders. She froze, suddenly completely awake. This was probably not good. Gingerly, she looked down, examined it more closely. It seemed to be asleep. Had it really fallen asleep in the middle of strangling her? That was almost insulting; was she that boring?

Or, she realized, was it perhaps cold? The lair could get pretty chilly in the morning, and she’d been so busy worrying about her new familiar attacking her to give a thought to taking care of it. Even as she thought about her failures, it shifted sleepily across her shoulders; she realized that there wasn’t even a loop around her neck. Carefully, she reached up and stroked it. The Strangler woke with a start, stared at her for a moment with those great yellow eyes, and then slowly, slowly slithered off her. The instant its tail left her shoulders, it arrowed quickly across the floor to the other side of the room.

“You’re just as scared of me as I am of you, aren’t you?” Zura asked, the sound of Coatl – which she so rarely got to speak, surrounded by dragons to whom it was nothing but noise – gentle against her ears. “I think this can work out.”


	9. Chapter 9

Kelsus woke with a distinct sense that something was off. He’d been sleeping, as usual, in his sap-spun roost, just the perfect size for him to nestle in, which was attached to the roof of one of the lair’s caverns. The strange thing was, something was poking at him. He sat up to see the entrance to his roost filled with clusters of rigid green leaves, vines twining towards him like snakes.  _Well, that’s new_ , he thought, trying to avoid a sense of terror. Had Zura’s Strangler called friends or something? These plants didn’t seem to have faces.

Before Kelsus could consider the odd events any further, a roar broke the early-morning stillness.

“What in  _the Arcanist’s_ name?” It was Delemont’s voice, Kelsus believed, although he found it difficult to distinguish between the other dragons’ speech. Kelsus poked his head past the encroaching vines to see that the vines had spread throughout the entire lair, not just his roost, and continued to move and grow – in fact, he was starting to feel a little squeezed himself.

“You might want to come out of there,” Geras said, looking up at him. “I think we have a problem.”

“Just a little one,” Kelsus replied, deadpan, although the Guardian didn’t seem to notice his attempt at humor. He fluttered down to perch on her head, clinging to her great horns.

A moment later, Delemont entered the room, his body language inscrutable as ever to Kelsus. “These stupid vines are covering the entire lair. What in the name of all the gods happened?”

Geras shrugged. “Have you seen the others?”

“Nesita’s trying to keep these things away from the eggs, Bartos is bleating about how they might damage his books… I don’t know where Rakgi or Zura are.  _Not_ helping, I assume.” Delemont tore into the plants at his feet, but they seemed to grow back just as quickly as the Mirror could destroy them.

“We’ll go look for them,” Geras said. “They could be in trouble.”

“If they’re going to let themselves get bowled over by a bunch of plants, they deserve whatever they get,” Delemont said. He glanced up at Kelsus, and at Kelsus’ now-drowned nest. “ _No offense_.”

“None taken,” Kelsus replied, crest spreading cheerfully. Geras flicked her tail at the black dragon and started off, plowing through the vines with pure, brute force.

“Maybe we can follow these vines back to their source,” the Guardian mused. “They seem to be coming from this direction, don’t they? That’s where Gavin lives.”

“Gavin likes plants and gardening,” Kelsus pointed out.

“He does indeed.” Geras tilted her head upwards, trying to look at the little Fae perched between her horns. “By the way, Kelsus, when Delemont said ‘no offense’…”

“Yes?” Kelsus shifted forward and bent over Geras’ snout so that he could make eye contact with her. It didn’t help; he still wasn’t sure what she meant. Had he failed to pick up on Delemont’s sarcasm again?

“Never mind. There’s Gavin’s cave.” Geras stopped. The entrance to the Tundra’s dwelling was completely choked by plant life, and it did all seem to be slithering out from somewhere within. “Gavin? Are you in there?”

A muffled noise was the only response.

“It sounds like he might be trapped,” Geras said. “You might want to move, Kelsus; things could get messy.”

Kelsus flapped his way to the rocky ceiling – the only area still free of the vines – and clung there, tiny claws finding purchase in the smallest of crevices. He watched, fascinated, as Geras began to tear at the vines, spitting the occasional wisp of flame, although she didn’t use her elemental power much – afraid, perhaps, that with all the flammable plants around, the fire could spread throughout the entire lair. Despite the vines’ quick regrowth, she eventually managed to uncover the blue-and-purple Tundra, almost flattened beneath a particularly large thicket.

“Thank you!” he said, as Geras pulled him out of the inundated cavern. “I’m afraid one of my gardening projects got a little out of control.”

“You could say that,” Geras said, surveying the riot of vines. “Oh, Flamecaller, Delemont is going to kill you.”

That, Kelsus hoped, was a joke.


	10. Chapter 10

“Admit it, Bartos,” Rakgi said. “We’re lost.”

“Just because I have not yet been able to pinpoint our exact location on my map – ” the Tundra began.

“That map was out of date in the Second Age,” Lailyn snapped. The Skydancer was clearly dangerously close to losing her temper. “Is the Woodland Path even marked on there? Why couldn’t you bring a modern map?”

“I don’t think he  _owns_ any modern maps,” Rakgi said, over Bartos’ head.

“This map is perfectly fine,” Bartos replied coolly. “I would be able to read it quicker, though, without you two nattering on.”

Lailyn sneered up at Bartos, but chose to confine her displeasure to gestures – for now, at least. Rakgi was a little worried about what might happen if Bartos didn’t find their route soon, though. Lailyn had a quick and nasty temper, and after watching her decimate mice and moths, Rakgi didn’t want to see her fury turned against their clan-mate, even if Bartos could be a bit insufferable at times.

“Just put away the map,” Rakgi suggested. “We’ll find our way.” He wished he were as confident as he sounded.

“Very well,” Bartos sniffed. He folded the map and tucked it away under his wing. “What do you suggest, O wise and fearless leader?”

“Well…” Rakgi stared at the two smaller dragons, both of whom were now apparently miffed at him. He  _was_ their wise and fearless leader, even if Bartos had meant it sarcastically – he’d have to get them out of this. “Moss grows on the north side of trees, right? So we can use that – or was it south? I…”

With a sound of disgust, Lailyn opened her wings and threw herself into the air, knocking Bartos’ glasses off his face and considerably ruffling his fur in the process. As he replaced his spectacles, the Tundra stared after the Skydancer with a particularly enigmatic expression. All Rakgi could divine from it was a certain sense of foreboding about the future cohesiveness of his team.

“Do you have any idea where she’s going?” the Guardian asked a moment later.

“Perhaps she’s hoping that an aerial viewpoint will make things more clear,” Bartos said. He looked at Rakgi over the top of his glasses. “By the way, moss grows in damp and shady conditions, and while the north side of a tree may be more shady due to the sun’s rotation, there are many other factors that can create a beneficial moss-growing environment, so that is by no means the only side on which moss can grow.”

“Thanks,” Rakgi said, without any gratitude in his voice. “Do you think she’s coming back?”

“That, not even I can tell you.” Bartos retrieved his map.


	11. Chapter 11

“Geras!”

Geras started at the sound of Delemont’s voice and wondered what she could have done wrong now. It wasn’t that he sounded _particularly_ angry – he was just always angry, and unlikely to seek out her company unless he was displeased with her.

Well, ignoring him would only make things worse. She padded out of her own cave and met the older dragons who had just returned from the Coliseum.

“This is yours now,” Delemont said, offhand, already heading for the food stores.

“Wait, what?” Geras found herself looking at an Opheodrys Serthis, coiled on the stone floor, staring back at her with unblinking orange eyes.

“We captured this Serthis in battle,” Nesita said. As always, her tone was kinder than Delemont’s. “You could use a companion, couldn’t you? Something to take your mind off of your worries.”

Geras’ primary worry was, of course, her Search. She was no longer a hatchling, but an adult; shouldn’t she leave to find her charge soon? Yet she didn’t want to abandon her family. Whenever she tried to discuss this with Rakgi, her fellow Guardian, he seemed disinterested. Once he’d flippantly stated that he’d figure it out after he left the clan – as if that were a foregone conclusion, as if he had no intention of staying – she’d stopped trying to bring it up.

“Familiar,” Zura added, a knowing tone in her voice despite her loose command of Draconic. She had been the first of the clan members to acquire a familiar, and thus could have counted herself an expert had she been able to communicate her experiences more effectively.

“Ah – all right.” Geras returned her gaze to the Serthis. The snake-creature’s eyes were almost the same orange as her own, as if it, too, followed the Flamecaller – but beasts didn’t serve the gods, did they? She didn’t know. Perhaps she ought to ask Bartos; surely in all his reading, he would have come across something about the Serthis.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time,” Nesita said, almost throwing the words over her shoulder as she went to check on the eggs. Zura, too, was busy retreating to her own cave, leaving Geras alone with her new familiar.

“Well,” Geras said. The Serthis just kept staring at her; she couldn’t read any emotion on its tiny, flat face. Flamecaller, did it understand Draconic? Did Serthis even talk – were they capable of that level of thought? Surely they had to be, for the Beastclans to organize – but that didn’t mean it could understand her. Should she just pick it up, or would that just get her bitten? Opheodrys weren’t venomous, right? That much she knew from Delemont’s accounts of hunting them. Oh, Flamecaller, she probably shouldn’t be thinking about how many of this creature’s fellows her clan-mates had killed – about how she might be killing them too once she grew strong enough to hunt in the delta.

“Do you speak Draconic?” Geras asked, almost to the walls as much as to the Serthis itself. If she didn’t get an answer, she supposed that would tell her that it did not.

“Yes.” The word was perfectly understandable, if a bit hissed.

“Oh. Good.” Was it? Wouldn’t it be easier to have a simple pet, like Bartos’ steam gyre? Speech meant questions, it meant complaints, it meant independent thought… “My cave’s this way, if you’d like to follow me.”

Politeness? Was that appropriate – was that wise? Flamecaller, she had to be overthinking this, just as Rakgi always accused her of doing. Still, the Serthis slithered after her as she returned to her own portion of the lair.

“So, why did you decide to accompany our clan?” Geras asked, in a rather pathetic attempt to make small-talk.

The Serthis’ answer made her regret the impulse: “I didn’t want to die.”

“Oh.” Was there really any appropriate response to that? An apology? The statement had been so flat, so matter-of-fact…

The Serthis looked up at her, head tilted on its short neck. “Does that bother you?”

Yes, quite a bit. “I just don’t know what to say,” Geras admitted.

“It shouldn’t.” They’d reached Geras’ cave, and the Serthis coiled itself against the wall. “Serthis and dragons are enemies. I would have killed your friends if I could have. I could not, but they spared me when I asked for it; among my people, I would not even have found that mercy.” The creature’s lips parted, displaying its minuscule teeth. “I would call you fools for it, but again, I do not wish to die.”

“Oh,” Geras said again. It suddenly occurred to her to wonder whether “it” was even an appropriate term for the Serthis. She had no idea how to read gender in that thin, two-limbed body, but it seemed important; the creature was not a mindless beast, like the other familiars that shared the clan’s lair. Should she ask?

“Do you have a name?” Geras asked, and then wondered if that question was insulting, implying that it – they – might not even possess their own name.

“You would not be able to pronounce it.” Was there amusement in the Serthis’ voice? Geras had no idea. “It is” – the hissing sound proved the previous assertion. “You may call me Fee, if you prefer. I am female,” the Serthis added, as if reading Geras’ mind – or perhaps just the confusion in her voice.

Geras just nodded, unsure what would be an appropriate verbal response – “Thank you”?

“I would like to sleep now,” Fee said, voice even and emotionless. “If I may?”

“Of course; you don’t have to ask permission.” Geras realized that she ought to offer the Serthis food, but Fee was already collapsing into her coils, and she didn’t want to disturb her new familiar. She decided to slip out of the cave, as quietly as a dragon her size could, and go talk to Bartos. And Rakgi: hadn’t he also acquired a Serthis companion recently? He’d never spoken about it, but then he wouldn’t think as much of it as Geras did, not being the thoughtful type. Geras wondered if his familiar spoke Draconic.


	12. Chapter 12

Gavin was having a perfectly nice day in the woods until the branch came to life and started beating him around the head.  _This is not normal behavior for a birch tree_ , he thought, ducking. _I bet there’s some nature magic at work here._

Yes: there, behind the tree, crouched a dryad. As the branch came back around, Gavin reached up, caught it, and broke it off from the tree with a quick spell. The dryad flinched.

“I’d rather not fight right now, if it’s all the same to you,” Gavin said. “Perhaps we could make an appointment for the Coliseum? If I’ve done something to offend you?”

“ _If_!” shrieked the dryad. Gavin was fairly certain that it was a female; he’d made some study of dryads. “Trees cut – brush burned – soil washed away – down to the bedrock!  _If_ I’m offended!”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about,” Gavin replied. “I was just hoping to dig up some tulip bulbs for my garden.”

“Oh, of course, you think you can just take whatever you want, no consequences, doesn’t matter if some of us are  _dying_ out here – ”

“Are you in trouble?” Gavin peered at the dryad. Now that he looked more closely, neither she nor the tree looked particularly healthy. “I am a Nature dragon, and I have some experience in caring for plants – perhaps I could help you.”

“You want to help?” The dryad sounded incredulous, and then suspicious. “No, you don’t. You just want to drag me back to your clan as a trophy, for your – what do you call it –  _bestiary_. All you dragons are the same.”

“I assure you, I already have a familiar."  _And I prefer pets a little more colorful than you._ Somehow, Gavin didn’t think that giving voice to that thought would do anything to win the dryad’s trust; instead, he tried smiling at her, although Gladekeeper only knew what a creature with such a flat little face considered a smile. "You really do look like you could use some help – maybe some fertilizer or something?”

The dryad’s minuscule brow furrowed, and Gavin belatedly realized that it could have been considered impolite to offer her manure. Oops.

“Now that you mention it, I am a bit under the weather – but that doesn’t matter!” she added, as if she’d just remembered that she was angry with him. “ _I’m_ fine; you should see what’s going on a couple miles east of here!”

“Thanks, I shall,” Gavin said, curious, and flew away.  _Mental note: Bring that dryad some fertilizer._


	13. Chapter 13

“Hey, Zura!”

Zura looked up, having just finished sorting the day’s newly-gathered produce. That had been her name, hadn’t it? She often couldn’t tell. Better go check.

Yes, Nesita was waiting for her outside the hoard, her wings folded demurely around her. “Look who’s new here.”

Zura tilted her head. “New?”

She hadn’t caught the entire statement, and there had been a good bit of shuffling in the clan recently; Zura couldn’t even completely keep track of who was staying and who was heading off to the Arcanist or another clan. Besides, there wasn’t another dragon in the room, was there?

Grinning, Nesita lifted her wings, and out from under them tumbled a rather disheveled Coatl hatchling, all blue-purple feathers and big Shadow eyes. He shook himself, squeaking indignantly at Nesita, and the call of another Coatl was music to Zura’s ears.

“I said I wanted out!” he huffed in Coatl. Nesita kept grinning at him, and at Zura, a certain blankness in her eyes telling Zura that she had no idea what the hatchling had said.

Apparently satisfied that he’d told off Nesita sufficiently, the hatchling sat down and started to preen his ruffled feathers back into place.

“I figured it’d be best for you to take care of him, since you can understand him better,” Nesita explained to Zura, who caught only “take care of him.”

“Yes!” Zura said. Oh, Arcanist, it would be nice to have someone else to speak Coatl with – Bartos had asked her to teach him the language, but with her highly imperfect grasp of common draconic, the lessons weren’t going well.

“Great!” Nesita said. “Well, I’ll leave you two to get acquainted, then.”

The Tundra turned and swept out of the cavern, calling for Delemont as she left, and Zura focused her attention on the little Coatl, who was currently running his claws through the feathers on his hind wings to straighten them.

“Hello,” Zura said, suddenly nervous: What if, after all this time in a clan of outsiders, she’d forgotten how to speak Coatl properly?

The hatchling straightened and looked at her. “Hello. I’m Wanderer. What’s your name?”

“Zura.”

Wanderer seemed to ponder this statement for a moment. Then he jumped to his feet. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Yes – of course. Whatever you like.” Zura felt a silly smile crossing her face and pulled her skull headdress down to hide it. She wasn’t alone anymore.


	14. Chapter 14

“What is that?” Bartos said, his voice perhaps a bit more accusatory than he’d intended.

Zura looked up, her feathers ruffling already.  _And you thought she couldn’t pick up on tone._ Bartos wondered, in fact, how that had worked considering her poor hearing. Had she actually understood his words, or his tone of voice, or was she reacting to his body language? The last option was probably the most likely. He would have liked to ask her about it if it weren’t for the language barrier.

“What?” she asked.

“What do you have there?” The more complex sentence was only more likely to confuse her. Curse it. Bartos pointed to the bundle of blue feathers beside Zura, half-sheltered by her wing, and tilted his head inquisitively.

“Hatchling,” Zura said, lifting her wing a bit. A young Coatl blinked owlishly out at Bartos and hummed something that was probably a comment. Too bad Bartos didn’t speak Coatl. The blame for that could be laid with Zura, but the failure was just as easily Bartos’: they’d attempted a couple lessons and then given them up in mutual confusion. Zura simply didn’t speak enough Draconic to initiate Bartos into her breed’s secrets. But perhaps…

“May I see?” Bartos asked. Zura’s head tilted, and she rolled away from the hatchling a bit, enough for Bartos to get a closer look at him. Yes, this could work out nicely. Clearly, the little dragon already spoke Coatl, and unlike Zura, he might still be young enough to learn a second language. “I’d like to give him – you – lessons in Draconic,” Bartos said, making an effort to include the hatchling in the conversation, although he probably understood even less than Zura.

“Speak little,” the hatchling piped up, bouncing up to Bartos. “Little Dra'nic.”

“Very good,” Bartos said, a bit surprised. Well, the hatchling had joined their clan from elsewhere; he must have picked up a bit of the common language on his way. “What’s your name?”

“Wanderer.” The hatchling turned to Zura, and the two Coatls hummed at each other for a few seconds. Then Wanderer’s Shadow-purple gaze returned to Bartos. “Teach me?”

“I would love to."  _And perhaps I’ll be able to learn a little Coatl in return_. Whether or not that idea succeeded, it couldn’t hurt to render the clan’s new member a little more understandable.


	15. Chapter 15

“This doesn’t look like a good idea,” Rakgi said.

“Don’t be a coward,” Lailyn retorted, although her voice was light enough to take some of the edge off the words. “We’ll have fun. After all, if  _dear_ Bartos wants to go freeze his tail off, and doesn’t quite remember that some of us don’t have fur…”

“I told you, you didn’t have to come,” Bartos replied. He wasn’t paying much attention to Lailyn’s annoyance or Rakgi’s worry: he was utterly engrossed by the sight of some sort of giant fish, completely frozen in ice. Rakgi shivered, and not just from the cold of the Southern Icefields. There were strange things here in the Fortress of Ends. He wasn’t sure what bothered him most: the spined, gap-jawed monsters or the occasional dragon, encased completely in a position that might almost have been comical if not for the eerie drone of the wind, the faint echoes of shock in their empty eyes.

Yep, definitely the dragons. The dragons were definitely more creepy.

“We’re a team,” Rakgi said aloud. “We have to protect each other.”

The narrowing of Lailyn’s eyes told Rakgi that the Skydancer was considering some particularly devastating comment, but in the end she only snorted, her breath ghosting white on the frigid air.

“This isn’t the Coliseum, you know,” Bartos commented. “Ah, Arcanist, my ink’s frozen. How am I supposed to take notes?”

“It’s still dangerous,” Rakgi insisted. As Bartos walked on, the other two dragons trailing after him, Rakgi caught the eye of one open-mouthed Guardian and shivered. He could almost see himself in the frozen dragon’s place…

“Aww, are you cold?” Lailyn cooed, her voice straddling the thin line between affection and insult. “Let me help.”

She fluttered onto Rakgi’s back and spread her wings, feathers brushing his scales.

“Get off,” Rakgi snorted, shaking himself, though he realized a moment later that he actually didn’t mind the warmth of another dragon. But still: “You just want me to carry you so you won’t have to walk.”

“Am I so transparent?” Lailyn tilted her head, simpering at him.

“Yep.”

“Well, I am only a poor little Skydancer, without the massive strength of a Guardian such as yourself; it’s hard for someone so small and weak to push through these drifts, you – ”

“Ah!” The exclamation from Bartos made Rakgi and Lailyn turn. He was pointing at a narrow, dark opening, barely large enough for Rakgi to squeeze into, between two sheets of ice that housed particularly grotesque monsters. The Tundra was as excited as Rakgi had ever seen him. “That must be the passage I’ve read about. Supposedly, it leads straight to the lair of the Icewarden.”

“Okay, good, we’ve found it, let’s leave,” Lailyn said, her feathers ruffled to make her look larger.

Bartos shook his head. “Can you imagine what artifacts the Icewarden, or even the exalted dragons in his service, might hold? The things I could learn?”

“Bartos, I don’t think that’s a – he’s gone.” Rakgi stared after the Tundra, who had vanished into the passage by the time Rakgi spoke. “Oh, Lightweaver. What is  _wrong_ with him?”

“You know what they say: curiosity killed the owlcat.” Lailyn glanced up at Rakgi. “Oh, gods, you’re going to want to go after him, aren’t you?”

“He’s our clan,” Rakgi said, and pushed himself through the gap. Forced through with only minor damage to the ice on either side, he looked back to see the Skydancer daintily picking her way around the shards he’d dislodged.

“Fine, but you’re carrying me on the way back,” she said.


	16. Chapter 16

The further into the passage Lailyn got, the murkier the light became. She never would have admitted it, but she was actually grateful for Rakgi’s solid, if uninspired, presence beside her. It wasn’t that she was  _frightened_ or anything – certainly not – but if things came to a fight, the Guardian would be useful.

There was still no sign of Bartos; he’d disappeared somewhere ahead of them. Curse it, what would the rest of the clan think if Lailyn and Rakgi couldn’t even keep tabs on one bookworm Tundra?

Of course, the cold wouldn’t bother  _him_. _He_ had fur. Lailyn didn’t, and she could feel the ice settling into her bones; the tips of her talons were so cold they almost felt hot, and that couldn’t be a good sign. Stormcatcher, she had to get out of her before she got frostbite. She’d make a very pretty sight with stumps for talons…

“Are you all right?” Rakgi glanced down at Lailyn, genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m freezing,” she hissed. “Where is that idiot Tundra? Let’s find him and get out of here – I don’t care if you have to grab him and carry him.”

Rakgi could do it, too; he was more than four times Bartos’ size. Yet he looked a little disconcerted at the suggestion. “I’m sure he’s just up ahead studying something… Although we really should have caught up to him by now…”

Lailyn snorted. “We’ve lost him.” She was rather close to throwing in the towel and abandoning Bartos, heading home with Rakgi – or alone, if he wouldn’t come. The main thing that kept her from simply flying off was that the ice had closed above them, a great blue-marbled vault. It would have made a pretty lair for some Ice clan, some group of thick-furred, thick-headed Tundras who didn’t care that it was freezing – or that there were frozen dragons and beasts peering out at them. Not, again, that Lailyn was afraid.

“There he is!” Rakgi said, before Lailyn could suggest retreat. Yes: Bartos’ dark fur stood out well against the pale bluish ice, though his wings were almost its very color. He was contemplating a large monster embedded in the wall with his head tilted, and only turned slowly as Rakgi broke into a run and thundered towards him.

“Oh, you came?” he said with infuriating calm. “Good, can you hold this for me? I’m trying to sketch this, but I can’t seem to warm up the ink – perhaps Lailyn – ”

“Bartos!” Rakgi half-shrieked; even the Guardian was exasperated.

Bartos looked their shivering forms over, his Arcane-pink eyes pools of pure detachment. “Are you cold? Perhaps you ought to go home. I can do without your help or your babysitting, you know.”

“Yes, but for some odd reason Rakgi is convinced that he can’t do without  _you_ ,” Lailyn snarled, her temper truly lost. “Personally, I don’t see the appeal, but – ”

“Shh!” Bartos interrupted, turning to look down the passage, and Lailyn was preparing to jump on him – she didn’t care if she was smaller than him, she’d magic him into submission if she had to – when she heard what had drawn his attention: a distant, deep rumble, so low at first that she thought she might be imagining it, but growing, growing, until it shook the very ice of the walls, tiny shards pelting the three unfortunate dragons who stood beneath.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Rakgi said nervously; he had to raise his voice just to be heard. Lailyn was shaking, not with fear – still, never with fear – but from the pure strength of the vibrations, which ruffled her feathers and made her delicate bones ache.

“No, it does not,” Bartos agreed, a layer of sophistication over the beginnings of worry in his voice. “Perhaps we ought to retreat.”

Lailyn would have screamed at him, had she not feared adding to the audio tempest. As it was, that would have been a bad choice: already, a few larger chunks of ice were coming loose from the ceiling and shattering on the rocky ground, sending shrapnel flying. Lailyn made the mistake of trying to shield her face with a wing and got a torn membrane for her trouble.

“Run!” Rakgi shouted, any veneer of calm gone, and he snatched up Lailyn, shoving her onto his shoulders, and stampeded down the tunnel, Bartos on his heels. In a less dangerous situation, Lailyn might have laughed at the way the Tundra’s fur bounced as he ran, but he was able to keep pace with the Guardian, perhaps a gift from his Mirror father. Stormcatcher knew he wasn’t so athletic in the Coliseum.

They made it out of the passage just ahead of a wave of pulverized ice, Rakgi losing his footing at the last moment and tumbling into the snow; Lailyn managed to jump from his shoulders just in time to keep from ending up beneath him and made a similarly graceless landing. Bartos, on the other hand, stopped successfully, ducking until the tide of icy fury had passed, and then staring back down the darkened passage.

“Hmm,” he said, contemplatively. “I wonder what triggered – ”

“ _We’re going home_ ,” Rakgi insisted, at a volume considerably louder than necessary.

Bartos turned to him in surprise, his eyes traveling passionlessly over Lailyn, who was examining the tear in her wing with some trepidation. It wasn’t too large – she ought to be able to fly, but it’d hurt like the Flamecaller’s own fires. Curse Bartos and his thrice-cursed curiosity.

“Fine,” Bartos said, with a sigh. “I’ll have to come back sometime without you.”


	17. Chapter 17

“How long has this stuff been here?” Geras muttered. She had come to the clan’s hoard just looking for a waterskin to take with her on a long flight and quickly discovered that the hoard was utter chaos. Zura must have just been tossing the fruits of her gathering into the room, not caring where they landed. Now Geras found herself pawing through an unbelievable quantity of bones, bits of wood, pebbles, beast hides… “Flamecaller, what do we need all this stuff for? Ew!”

This last was occasioned as her talons came into inadvertent contact with a slimy tusk that must have once belonged to a Greatshell. Geras sat back on her haunches and shook her claws, trying to get rid of the sensation of goo…

“Ow!” In her flailing, she’d managed to step on something spiky – she couldn’t even tell what, in the mess. She found herself falling backwards, tried desperately to right herself, and just went sprawling with a crash. Gods, no one had seen that, right? Scrambling back to her feet, Geras found that her dignity was the least of her concerns: her fall had dislodged the stone that served as a door to the hoard, and it now blocked the opening. There was a lever somewhere in here that’d activate the pulley system and open the door – but the room had been plunged into near-total darkness, with only a faint illumination coming from some trinkets in the hoard, and Geras couldn’t make it out.

“Flamecaller,” she swore. Gods only knew what she’d managed to break in her fall, as well. If she’d smashed the lever – well, she didn’t want to consider the consequences of  _that_.

She’d have to try to find it soon, she knew, but for a moment she only sat in the semidarkness, her mind blank. And that was when she heard the rasp of scales on stone. Her heart beating too quickly, Geras turned, but her eyes couldn’t penetrate the darkness. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me.”

Geras frowned; the voice wasn’t one she recognized. One of the newer clan members, perhaps? No, there’d been a hiss on  _it’s_ ; there was only one creature in the lair who sounded like that.

“Fee?” Geras said. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting food.” Was there a defiant note in the Serthis’ voice? Geras realized that she’d failed to make provisions for feeding her familiar. She had assumed… No, she hadn’t really thought about it.

“Oh. Good.” Geras was glad it was dark; she’d winced at the awkwardness of the response. Oh, Flamecaller, Fee had watched that stupid fall. Great. “I was just looking for… Where’s that lever?”

“Here.”

With a groan of ropes and stone, the door opened and Geras, blinking in the light, found her familiar curled around the lever.

“Thanks,” she said. 

“Anything I can do to help.”

Geras was fairly certain that  _that_ statement was sarcastic, but she wasn’t sure how to respond to it. “Do you still need food?” she asked instead.

The small head tilted. “It would be nice.”

“Let me help you; what do you want?” Geras would have liked to make up for her inattention. She could have sworn that the Serthis shrugged, but who knew, with shoulders that narrow?


	18. Chapter 18

“Sorry,” Zura said.

Delemont looked up, feeling a scowl start to distort his face.

“Sorry means nothing,” he snapped. “You could have gotten us all killed.”

Zura quailed, visibly cringing. The Coatl probably hadn’t understood half of what Delemont had said, but he didn’t care. He could have called Wanderer in to translate, but what did it matter? Her reaction told him that she got the gist of the statement, probably just from his tone.

Delemont had always considered Zura rather annoying – he couldn’t stand that grating hum of hers – but essentially harmless. Then she’d showed up to the Coliseum distracted and off her game, and the outing had ended rather disastrously for the three of them. Nesita hadn’t woken up yet. Not that Delemont was  _worried_ about the stupid furball, but it would be a definite inconvenience to have to train up a new teammate, having gotten so used to fighting with the Tundra at his side. And since she was their clan’s best healer…

“Sorry!” Zura repeated, and nudged a package towards Delemont. Then she scurried out of striking distance, under Delemont’s four-eyed glare.

“I just told you,” he roared, “sorry’s not good enough, and neither is – ”

She fled. Delemont glowered after her for a moment. If she knew what was good for her, she’d stay out of his way for a few days; the idea of giving her a taste of his injuries and Nesita’s was too appealing. Somehow, Zura’d managed to come out of the botched battle the healthiest of the three of them. Delemont himself had a torn wing and a broken leg, neither of which were healing as quickly as he’d like.

The package she’d given him: Delemont turned his attention to it, with Zura herself gone. Of course the stupid Coatl would think that some little trinket would make up for everything. What an idiot. Even Kelsus was better than that, and the Fae had no social skills to speak of. Delemont sniffed at the paper-wrapped package; it carried a mouth-watering fishy smell. He tore it open: a selection of his favorite seafood. Of course. Bile rose in his throat, and with a sudden flash of rage he pounced on it, ripping apart the fish and lobsters, shredding them beyond recognition. And he was still angry. Yes, Zura had better stay out of his way.


	19. Chapter 19

“Aha!” Kelsus finally pulled the stubborn grub out of the crevice into which it’d wedged itself and stuffed it, still wriggling, into the pouch slung around his thin shoulders. That one had nearly gotten away from him; he’d been trying to squeeze his claws into the tree trunk for some ten minutes now, just to get at it. His bag was about full now; the little Fae couldn’t carry that much, even if his small size and nimble claws made him a better insect-catcher than most of the rest of the clan. Not to mention that, feeding exclusively on insects himself, he had a better nose for them – even if not all of his catch made it back to the hoard. Insect-catching was hard work; he had to keep up his strength, after all.

Kelsus buckled the pack shut and turned, satisfied, and it was then that he realized that impenetrable darkness faced him on every side. He’d used his light magic to summon illumination for his tree, but except for the little glowing orb bobbing beside him, the forest was black as pitch. Kelsus felt his crest swell with something like anxiety, a pathetic, instinctive attempt to make himself look bigger. It was  _really_ dark. He must have lost track of time. He’d come out here alone, to catch up on gathering, and to be totally honest, he wasn’t totally sure which way to fly to get home.

“Well, got to just get started,” Kelsus said, forcing his crest to relax. If he’d been capable of anything other than a monotone, there would have been false cheer in his voice. He spread his wings and tried to rise above the trees, but he must have miscalculated the weight of his bag; he found flying hard labor.  _Now how am I going to get home?_ No, it’d be fine. He flitted from one tree to the next, just hoping that he was going in the right direction.

Yes, surely the trees were thinning? Surely – no, Kelsus reached the place where he’d expected the forest to end and found only a small clearing, the forest swallowing all light again on the other side. Lightweaver. He’d completely lost control of his crest now, and it was broadcasting his worry for any other Fae to read – and he wouldn’t mind the embarrassment of that if only there were anyone else here to see it.

 _Crack_. Kelsus froze. The sound had come from somewhere behind him, a heavy footfall snapping a branch.  _Be careful what you wish for…?_ But the originator of that noise was certainly larger than a Fae. Kelsus wrapped his wings around himself and wished he were darker in color. Well, with luck, even his bright greens would blend into the trees around him. He’d extinguished the spell-light already, and it occurred to him that he might want to jettison some of his loot and make for the sky. But, of course, any dragon could follow him there… Perhaps he’d just stay here for now.

He really had nothing to fear, he knew. Chances were someone else was just gathering in this particular insignificant corner of the Viridian Labyrinth, some friendly Guardian or Snapper… Out gathering well after dark in these lonely, spooky woods. Okay, that wasn’t comforting. Yes, maybe he’d ditch the bag.

“Kelsus?” The call came from the distance, and Kelsus nearly jumped out of his skin. He didn’t recognize the voice, but that was no surprise; he always had trouble with that. Neither could he read any purpose in it. But surely it’d be a friend?

“Hello?” he called. Even in monotone, his voice came out a little rougher than he’d expected, ragged. He cleared his throat.

“Kelsus? Where are you?” The brush across the clearing shook and bent to reveal a great pale-yellow Guardian.  _Oh, thank the Lightweaver_. It was Geras.

“Here!” Kelsus fluttered over to her, perching on her head. For once he was glad that his voice and body language were so foreign to the other dragons: she wouldn’t know that he’d been afraid.

“You were gone a long time, so I came looking for you,” Geras said, her eyes rolling back to try to meet his. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little overloaded.” Kelsus removed his bag and hooked it around one of Geras’ horns: she wouldn’t even notice the weight. “And lost.”

“Well, let’s head home.” The Guardian spread her wings, and Kelsus slid down to her broad back as she took off, clinging to her spines. He could fly for himself, of course, now that the bag no longer encumbered him. But he’d just as soon leave things to Geras.


	20. Chapter 20

Zarya hated it when her bathing was interrupted by corpses. She’d come all the way out to the border of the Starfall Isles and the Scarred Wasteland, looking for a little privacy on the little stretch of beach, to indulge her elemental affiliation and dive into the water. But no sooner did she step into the waves than bone crunched under her claws, and she realized that the large lump on her left was not, in fact, the dune she’d taken it for but the stinking remains of a sandy-colored Imperial. She supposed she ought not to have expected anything else from the Plaguebringer’s domain, even at its edges.

Well, she supposed she ought to simply alter the purpose of her visit. Carefully withdrawing her claw from the section of tail she’d managed to put it down on, she picked her way around the huge corpse. Excitement was starting to stir beneath her ribs: She’d never seen a dead Imperial before. The breed had an obnoxious habit of removing their dead and dying from others’ purview. Clearly, that custom had broken down here: from the smell and level of putrefaction, the body had been here under the sun for several days. Or perhaps this dragon’s nearest and dearest had thought this lonely corner of the Wandering Contagion was isolated enough to serve as a secret grave. If so, Zarya couldn’t be particularly impressed with their common sense. Did Imperials dump their dead in the ocean, perhaps, this specimen having washed back up?

Only closer examination would tell her. Padding around to the head, Zarya learned that the Imperial had been an Ice-Flight male. Tidelord only knew how he’d ended up here, but now he was only a specimen. Well, not “only” – he was a rather exceptional one. Zarya had never gotten to dissect an Imperial before.

She was just about to start cutting when a roar made her look up.  _Tidelord_ _!_ There were half a dozen huge Imperials twisting through the air towards her, flame spouting from the jaws of two of them, and they didn’t look happy with her.  _Well, this is why I’ve never gotten to examine an Imperial._ Zarya plunged into the water and swam for the proverbial hills. At least two of them were Fire-element, by the flames at their jaws; they wouldn’t be able to follow her. She would just have to hope that none of the rest were members of her own Water Flight, or that they were more concerned with disposing of the corpse than with chasing a defiler. From past experience, Zarya knew better than to linger and try to explain her presence: for whatever reason, others tended to react badly to the explanation that she’d simply been trying to glean knowledge of anatomy from their friend’s corpse. Such a limited view. What use had the dead for the bodies they’d left behind? Might as well learn something rather than letting them rot.

It didn’t look like anyone was following her. Briefly, Zarya toyed with the idea of returning to try and observe the Imperials’ burial customs. Something no other dragons had seen – Bartos or Kelsus surely would have relished the knowledge, and she wouldn’t mind learning what they did with the bodies. But somehow she didn’t think the Imperials’ habits had been kept a secret this long by asking nicely; the new arrivals had looked ready to roast her simply for approaching the body. As much interest as Zarya had in death, she had no desire to experience her own. Not, at least, until she’d learned a lot more about it.


	21. Chapter 21

The scrape of claws on stone alerted Moros that she was being watched, and she turned quickly, as  _technically_ she really shouldn’t be in Gavin’s room. She just wanted to borrow a few of his gardening tools – but she’d have to admit that she didn’t have permission to borrow them. She’d always thought it was better to ask forgiveness, and this way she’d get to keep the objects for longer, until Gavin noticed they were missing. With the Tundra’s absent-minded nature, that could be quite a while.

For a moment, she couldn’t find the source of the sound; then she saw movement and discerned the tiny yellow Nocturne curled among a planter full of daffodils. No wonder Moros hadn’t spotted the clan’s newest member: intentionally or otherwise, Sovari had chosen a set of flowers that matched the colors of her scales almost exactly.

“Hi,” Moros said.

“Hi,” the little Nocturne said. Moros blinked. The hatchling’s greeting sounded remarkably like her own in both tone and timbre, and she would have expected the smaller dragon’s voice to be considerably higher-pitched.

“What are you doing here?” Moros asked.

“What are  _you_ doing here?” Sovari repeated.

“I’m just… looking around,” Moros said, rather pathetically.  _Ugh_. _She’s just a hatchling; I should at least be able to come up with a lie that’ll convince_ her. "I like looking at Gavin’s gardens, don’t you?“

"Yes, I do.” Sovari slipped out of the pot of daffodils, and Moros breathed a sigh of relief. If she would just  _leave_ … But the Nocturne showed no interest in departing; she just sat there, staring at Moros with big, Ice-pale eyes. Moros could feel a shiver going down her spiked spine. There was  _nothing_ in those eyes: no curiosity, no suspicion, not even something as simple as joy or sorrow. They were just empty; might as well have been ice cubes.

“Well, I’m going to go now,” Moros said, slipping around Sovari towards the exit. Shade take Gavin’s tools; they weren’t worth this.

“I’m going to go,” Sovari said, and followed.  _Earthshaker._

Moros stopped, and so did Sovari, almost before Moros’ movement had ceased.  _What do I do with her?_ There was a part of Moros, a darker part, that suggested that the little beast wouldn’t find mimicry so easy or fun if she were stuffed inside of one of Gavin’s flowerpots, but Moros rejected the idea. She didn't  _want_ to be mean, and besides, sooner or later someone would find out. Nesita definitely wouldn’t like that, and Moros as on delicate enough ground with the Tundra as it was.

That gave Moros an idea, though. “Do you want to go visit Nesita in the hatchery?"  _And then you’ll be_ her _problem._

"I want to visit Nesita in the hatchery.” Sovari didn’t nod, didn’t move, just kept staring at Moros. It occurred to the Ridgeback to wonder whether the hatchling even knew what the words meant yet. But her pronunciation and intonations were as flawless as Moros’ own – in fact, they were exactly the same as Moros’ own.

“Let’s go, then,” the Ridgeback said, roughly, turning. She didn’t care anymore whether Sovari followed her – if the Nocturne wanted to spend the day staring at Gavin’s flowers, that was fine by her.

“Let’s go,” Sovari echoed, and Moros heard the little claws scraping across the stone behind her.  _Earthshaker, I hope I can get rid of her._


	22. Chapter 22

“ _What_ in the name of all that’s holy was that  _noise_?” Lorette demanded. A terrible bugling cry, like some sort of dying whale, had blown through the lair – emanating, Lorette thought, from the direction of the hoard.

Nesita shrugged. “Beats me. Would you be a dear, though, and go find out? I’m afraid it’ll disturb the eggs.”

“Sure.” Lorette slipped quietly out of the hatchery and headed for the hoard. She just hoped it wasn’t Wanderer or Moros, up to more mischief. Being on the same coliseum team as those two, she felt a certain responsibility for them – and they were probably the worst dragons she could have picked to try and look after.

On the way to the storage rooms, Lorette ran into several other dragons – Kelsus, Gavin, Lailyn, Zarya – all of whom asked, with varying levels of politeness, what that awful noise had been. Lorette made the same response to all of them: “I’m going to find out.”

This didn’t satisfy everyone, though, and by the time she got to the hoard, she had a following: Kelsus, Gavin and Sovari were trailing quietly after her. The Nocturne had joined the cavalcade without comment; in fact, it had taken Lorette some time to even notice that she was there. She shouldn’t have been hard to spot, her yellow scales hardly blending in with the pale pink stone of the Crystalspine Reaches, and yet she always seemed to be just behind Gavin or coming around a corner. Once she did notice her, Lorette tried not to look at Sovari. The Nocturne made her scales crawl – more by what she  _didn’t_ do than what she did: didn’t speak, didn’t offer an opinion, just mirrored whoever approached her. Did she even have a personality?

 _That’s just how Nocturnes are_ , Lorette reminded herself. _She can’t help it_. But no amount of rational understanding could keep Lorette from feeling uncomfortable around Sovari.

In any case, they reached the hoard and entered it just as the noise came again, ten times louder now – Lorette had been right as to its source. Now she just had to figure out which, of all the items her clan had collected, was making that terrible sound. She was fairly certain that it wasn’t any of the rocks or bones they had stored as materials, so she bypassed that area entirely. Everything they had stored as food was  _supposed_ to be dead, but maybe not – and then there were some of the strange trinkets they’d picked up.

“Kelsus, will you keep an eye on the food?” Lorette asked. “In case any of it’s still alive? I’m going to go through – ”

The noise came again, and this time Lorette, whirling around so quickly that she almost tied herself into a knot, was able to catch sight of an old, blackened war horn, the spoils of some battle or other, vibrating madly at the top of a heap of junk. Snatching it up, she winced at the intensity of the sound until it finally blew itself out. But how could it? There was certainly no centaur warrior here to blow on it. There were some familiars on the other side of the hoard, but none of them even had lips, and they were securely penned.

“So what’s making the horn sound?” Lorette wondered aloud. Gavin, who was watching her, shrugged, and Sovari shrugged in exactly the same motion.

“Very interesting,” said Kelsus, who had abandoned his food-monitor duty when the reverberating tone had made it clear that none of those supplies were the culprit. “Perhaps – ”

The rest of the Fae’s sentence was drowned out in another dying-whale noise, and Lorette staggered back a step at the intensity of the sound. As it dragged on, she saw only one alternative: she threw the horn at the wall, and it shattered, finally ending the cacophony. Lorette thought she saw something like smoke rise from the broken pieces, but if she did spot anything, it dissipated on the air and was gone in seconds.

“Oh,” Kelsus said. His voice was too monotone for Lorette to tell if he approved of her action.

“That’s certainly one way to solve the problem,” Gavin said cheerfully. “We should go tell the others that they don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Lorette nodded, glad just to get away from the shards of old bone: they made a cold feeling run down her very long spine.

“ _What_ in the name of all that’s holy was that  _noise_?” Lorette demanded. A terrible bugling cry, like some sort of dying whale, had blown through the lair – emanating, Lorette thought, from the direction of the hoard.

Nesita shrugged. “Beats me. Would you be a dear, though, and go find out? I’m afraid it’ll disturb the eggs.”

“Sure.” Lorette slipped quietly out of the hatchery and headed for the hoard. She just hoped it wasn’t Wanderer or Moros, up to more mischief. Being on the same coliseum team as those two, she felt a certain responsibility for them – and they were probably the worst dragons she could have picked to try and look after.

On the way to the storage rooms, Lorette ran into several other dragons – Kelsus, Gavin, Lailyn, Zarya – all of whom asked, with varying levels of politeness, what that awful noise had been. Lorette made the same response to all of them: “I’m going to find out.”

This didn’t satisfy everyone, though, and by the time she got to the hoard, she had a following: Kelsus, Gavin and Sovari were trailing quietly after her. The Nocturne had joined the cavalcade without comment; in fact, it had taken Lorette some time to even notice that she was there. She shouldn’t have been hard to spot, her yellow scales hardly blending in with the pale pink stone of the Crystalspine Reaches, and yet she always seemed to be just behind Gavin or coming around a corner. Once she did notice her, Lorette tried not to look at Sovari. The Nocturne made her scales crawl – more by what she  _didn’t_ do than what she did: didn’t speak, didn’t offer an opinion, just mirrored whoever approached her. Did she even have a personality?

 _That’s just how Nocturnes are_ , Lorette reminded herself. _She can’t help it_. But no amount of rational understanding could keep Lorette from feeling uncomfortable around Sovari.

In any case, they reached the hoard and entered it just as the noise came again, ten times louder now – Lorette had been right as to its source. Now she just had to figure out which, of all the items her clan had collected, was making that terrible sound. She was fairly certain that it wasn’t any of the rocks or bones they had stored as materials, so she bypassed that area entirely. Everything they had stored as food was  _supposed_ to be dead, but maybe not – and then there were some of the strange trinkets they’d picked up.

“Kelsus, will you keep an eye on the food?” Lorette asked. “In case any of it’s still alive? I’m going to go through – ”

The noise came again, and this time Lorette, whirling around so quickly that she almost tied herself into a knot, was able to catch sight of an old, blackened war horn, the spoils of some battle or other, vibrating madly at the top of a heap of junk. Snatching it up, she winced at the intensity of the sound until it finally blew itself out. But how could it? There was certainly no centaur warrior here to blow on it. There were some familiars on the other side of the hoard, but none of them even had lips, and they were securely penned.

“So what’s making the horn sound?” Lorette wondered aloud. Gavin, who was watching her, shrugged, and Sovari shrugged in exactly the same motion.

“Very interesting,” said Kelsus, who had abandoned his food-monitor duty when the reverberating tone had made it clear that none of those supplies were the culprit. “Perhaps – ”

The rest of the Fae’s sentence was drowned out in another dying-whale noise, and Lorette staggered back a step at the intensity of the sound. As it dragged on, she saw only one alternative: she threw the horn at the wall, and it shattered, finally ending the cacophony. Lorette thought she saw something like smoke rise from the broken pieces, but if she did spot anything, it dissipated on the air and was gone in seconds.

“Oh,” Kelsus said. His voice was too monotone for Lorette to tell if he approved of her action.

“That’s certainly one way to solve the problem,” Gavin said cheerfully. “We should go tell the others that they don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

Lorette nodded, glad just to get away from the shards of old bone: they made a cold feeling run down her very long spine.


	23. Chapter 23

“You lost the bet. You’re not going to wimp out now, are you?”

“Yeah, but I really didn’t think I was going to lose.” Kelsus looked up at Delemont. Even with his poor understanding of other dragons’ body language, he didn’t like what he saw. “What if we changed the – ”

“No, we’re not changing the terms just to make you feel better.” Delemont let out a little snort; as far as Kelsus could tell, he was enjoying this far too much.

“If you’re really uncomfortable, you don’t have to do it,” Bartos said coolly. None of this had been his idea; his father had dragged him in to confirm or negate the trivia with which he’d challenged Kelsus. 

“If you’re a _coward_ , you can back out,” Delemont corrected. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Seriously, though, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Bartos said, though he barely looked up from his scrolls. “I’ll back you up on that one, and I know a lot of others will too.”

“No,” Kelsus said, gulping, “I’ll do it. Fair’s fair, right?”

His crest had gone almost completely flat against his neck. Perhaps Delemont had a greater understanding of Fae body language than Kelsus did of others’, because he seemed to almost take pity on his clan-mate. “Here. I picked something small, so don’t kill yourself.”

“Especially considering that I’m not sure you’re equipped to digest anything other than insects,” Bartos added, as Delemont tossed a few leaves of grass and a mushroom cap onto the stone floor in front of Kelsus. “Don’t make yourself sick, either.”

“Okay, okay. I’m doing it.” Kelsus reached out and took one of the leaves in a tiny claw, then inserted it carefully into his mouth.

It tasted terrible. Dry and bland, with an unpleasant aftertaste like a rotten beetle. It was hard to chew, too; his teeth had to work hard to saw through it, and it came apart in tough, fibrous strings. Kelsus nearly gagged, but finally, after an awful interlude of chewing away, he managed to swallow it in one big lump that almost choked him.

“Try the mushroom next, and then we’ll count this as done,” Bartos suggested, not unkindly.

“The bet was – ” Delemont began.

“I know what the bet was. Go on, Kelsus.”

Unenthusiastically, Kelsus took a bite out of the unappetizing pale mushroom cap. It tasted like dirt, but at least it was easier to chew – though the texture was disgustingly mushy. _Lightweaver_. At least it was almost over. He got that mouthful down too, and Bartos nodded. “Okay, that’s all. We’ve learned a valuable lesson today, which is that it’s not a good idea to make dragons eat food outside their species’ range, especially for a stupid bet.”

“Your fluff-ball buddy put me up to it,” Delemont grumbled.

“Wanderer?” Bartos’ face shifted, although Kelsus had no idea what the new expression was supposed to convey. “I’ll have a talk with him, then.”

“You do that,” Kelsus said, his voice in no way conveying his considerable discomfort. “I’m going to go be sick.”

“Not on the scrolls, please,” Bartos said.

“Joking. I’m going to go eat bugs. A lot of bugs.” Anything to get the taste out of his mouth.


	24. Chapter 24

“Hey, can you watch the hatchery today? I’m going out.”

Lorette blinked at Nesita’s request. “Sure, but why? We’ve already done all the gathering today, and Delemont’s sleeping, so it’s not Coliseum…”

“Oh, no reason.” Nesita forced a smile. “I’ll be back soon. Just make sure no one messes with the eggs.”

“Of course.” Nodding, Lorette curled her long body around the nests. “Go on; I won’t pry. You deserve a day off, and some of these _are_ mine _._ ”

“Thank you.” Nesita slipped out of the hatchery, out of the entire lair, and took to the wing. She just hoped that she could remember the route – Tundras weren’t known for their visual memory, but she had made an effort to imprint the landmarks into her mind. She’d always known that she would come back here some day.

Yes, there it was. She set down in the patch of sandy soil, just where the Arcanist’s domain started to give way to the Scarred Wasteland. It looked undisturbed; that was a relief. She’d feared that perhaps some Plague dragons would… well, it didn’t bear thinking about. But everything was fine. The place smelled a little different than it had the last time she’d been here, but that was only to be expected – it’d been a long time. Not to mention that she’d been upset last time, and the smells had been so pungent – blood and rot… She’d rather not think about that.

Nesita sat between two low, sandy hillocks and began to speak. “Hi, Morfran, Saiph.” Delemont still didn’t know why she’d chosen those names for their first two hatchlings, long since departed to the Arcanist’s service. “I’m sorry that I haven’t come back sooner. I’ve been really busy. You know that I started a whole new clan? Well, not totally by myself; I had to recruit Delemont first. He’s a Mirror. Hates everybody, but he’s a good hunter. I think you’d like him, Morfran. You always saw the best in dragons.”

She cleared her throat, which was mysteriously clogged. “Anyway, the clan’s gotten huge. There are more than twenty of us now. A lot of the hatchlings leave, of course, but I don’t think we’d have room if they all stayed! One of my sons didn’t go, though. His name’s Bartos. He’s a good Tundra – clever, levelheaded. Not always the friendliest dragon, but his heart’s in the right place.

"Delemont and I – with Zura, she’s a very nice Coatl – have gotten pretty far in the Coliseum, and I spend a lot of time in our hatchery. We have two nests right now – neither are mine, but that’s okay. We had some trouble with eggs, recently. Not sure what to make of it. Some of our clan can be real trouble-makers, but it’s okay. We’re all family.”

Nesita stopped. The wind blew across the barren land, slapping tiny particles of sand against her fur. She’d expected this to help her, but instead she felt curiously hollow – empty, like the landscape around her. Morfran and Saiph couldn’t hear her. They were gone. Why had she even come? She sighed.

“I miss you,” she whispered, so low that the addressees wouldn’t have heard it even if they’d still had ears. “I wish you could see me, us, our clan. I think you’d like it.”

Shaking her head, she turned away.


	25. Chapter 25

“So, as I told Bartos, I’m fairly certain that the magical symbol in question is – ouch!”

“Is ‘ouch’ a common magical symbol, or is that one special?” Delemont asked sarcastically. Arcanist, he was so sick of listening to Nesita prattle on, even if it was about their own son. Especially if it was about their own son, to be honest. Delemont didn’t particularly dislike Bartos, but neither did he particularly like him – why would he? The Tundra was almost as boring as his mother, though at least he knew when to shut up.

Except that Nesita had shut up. Delemont’s first instinct was to thank the gods – he was in no mood at the moment to listen to her stories, though he’d probably cheer up once they started hunting and he got to kill something. But then, belatedly, it occurred to him to be concerned, especially since Zura was making concerned noises that might or might not be actual speech. Who knew, with Coatl?

“What’s wrong?” Delemont asked, making sure to harden his tone so that Nesita didn’t get the impression that he actually _cared_. He turned to see that the Tundra had made the mistake of venturing too close to a thorn bush, and her long fur was now completely tangled in it, turning the unfortunate bush purple. “Oh, for the Arcanist’s _sake_ …”

“No good!” Zura warned, and Nesita winced as both she and the Coatl tugged against the branches a bit.

“How, in the name of all the gods, did you even manage that?” Delemont demanded.

“I was distracted,” Nesita said, without half the chagrin Delemont thought she should feel about the situation. “You and Zura should go on ahead; I’ll work my way out eventually.”

She accompanied the statement with little – very little, with her movement restricted – shooing motions, so that even the Coatl, with her extremely imperfect grasp of Common, could understand what she meant. Zura just shook her head, though, and kept working at Nesita’s tangles.

“No, here.” Delemont stepped forward, pushing Zura aside. “Out of the way, feathers. Look, I’ve got this.”

And, in a single motion, he tore the entire thorn-bush out of the ground.

“Ow!” Nesita said, as the movement tugged at her fur, but a second later Delemont had dropped the tangle of fur and thorns onto her back.

“There. You can drag it around until we get back to the lair and someone can cut it out of your fur.” Delemont’s voice carried considerable satisfaction. And why shouldn’t it? He’d solved the problem simply and quickly, without any of the dithering he was sure the others would have spent hours on.

“I suppose they’ll have to,” Nesita said ruefully. “But I don’t think I’ll be hunting like this – it’s not exactly maneuverable. Why don’t you two go on ahead while I head back to the lair?”

Zura shook her head again. “Help,” she offered, rubbing affectionately against Nesita’s side.

“Well, I can’t go alone,” Delemont growled. “I guess I’ll have to escort you two messes back to the lair. Let’s go, then.”


	26. Chapter 26

“Icy thing.”

Jarith didn’t know who said it. Fae ears did not lend themselves to distinguishing voices. He got the words clearly enough, though, and the hurried shushing from someone else. Did he really want to bother to look up?

“What? I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.” Was the speaker’s increased volume intentional, an attempt to engage Jarith in a confrontation, or thoughtless? “I don’t know why we’ve got to take in every wei – ”

“Shut up.” The other dragon: were they angry, or amused? It would have been so much easier to tell if Jarith had actually been capable of comprehending others’ tone.

“I’ve never seen anyone conform to their elements as much as those two Ices,” the first dragon said. “I guess you’ve got Gavin always mucking about with flowers, but at least he’s decent when he gets his head out of the fertilizer pile. Have you ever actually held a conversation with Jarith or Sovari?”

Surely his name had to be an indication that they really were directing the words  at him, didn’t it? He was right there. Didn’t they know he could hear them? Or had they gotten them confused with Zura, who actually didn’t speak Common?

Not, of course, that it bothered him. Jarith couldn’t care less what his clan-mates thought of him. He supposed he’d rather hear it than have it whispered behind his back; at least this way he could collect data on their reactions to him, use it to modify his behavior if necessary for his continued wellbeing within the clan. And towards that purpose, he really ought to turn around and see who was talking. It still took him a moment to muster the energy to do it, though. _It doesn’t bother me_.

Delemont and Rakgi. Using what he knew of the larger dragons’ personalities, Jarith could deduce that Delemont had been the first speaker, Rakgi the second. Delemont didn’t like him, Jarith knew. Something about his habits of observation and recording bothered the Mirror; he’d even taken a swipe or two at the Fae. Rakgi’s attitude towards him was more indifferent, so it was hard for Jarith to be sure whether the Guardian’s interruption of the older dragon had been outrage or ashamed amusement. 

Rakgi nudged Delemont when he saw Jarith looking at them, nearly knocking the smaller dragon over. Perhaps it was Jarith’s still lacking understanding of body language, but Delemont showed no sign of shame or guilt for his statements, just stared with hostility blazing from all four flat pink eyes. It would be a reasonable deduction, then, that the insults had been intended for Jarith to overhear. Interesting.


	27. Chapter 27

“This does not seem like a good idea,” Bartos remarked dryly.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Lailyn said, grinning. “Go on, Rakgi.”

“Um, I think I’m with Bartos,” the Guardian said. “This seems really, really likely to end up badly.”

“All right, if you’re scared.” The Skydancer shrugged. “It’s no skin off my wings. Just thought you might appreciate the chance to prove – ”

“Pray leave off manipulating him, Lailyn,” Bartos interrupted, although he still sounded disinterested. Didn’t he always?

“Sorry, I didn’t realize he was a hatchling you had to look after.”

“I’ll do it!” Rakgi declared. “I’m not afraid of any old Scaleback.”

“That’s what worries me,” Bartos muttered, but the Tundra shrugged and returned to his scroll.

Rakgi peered into the crevice. He couldn’t see any signs of movement, but Lailyn swore that she’d seen a Scaleback – one of the clan’s unassigned familiars – scurry down there, and Rakgi couldn’t help but feel flattered that she’d though him capable enough to get it out. And if a part of him, in a voice that sounded a bit like Bartos’, suggested that she didn’t sincerely expect to see him become a hero, he would just have to prove her wrong.

“I’ve got this,” Rakgi said again, as much to reassure himself as to tell the others. Bartos made a small, disbelieving noise, which only increased Rakgi’s determination. The Guardian reached out, touched the crevice – and a low growl made him flinch.

“Well, I guess that’s proof that the Scaleback’s in there,” he said, trying not to sound nervous.

“Good job,” Lailyn replied. “You found it.”

“Thanks.” Rakgi mustered his courage, reached into the crack, and cried out as sharp teeth fixed on his talon. He recoiled, dragging the creature out of the nook, its grip on his talon still firm. “Oh Lightweaver get it off, get it _off_  – ”

With a crackle and a smell of ozone, lightning leapt from Lailyn’s talons to the Scaleback, stunning it. It fell away, and Rakgi stilled, trying to look unbothered and examine his bleeding talon at the same time.

Bartos sighed. “There were much more efficient ways to do that, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Lailyn said, her voice pleased. “But watching Rakgi squeal and flail like a hatchling was the most fun.”

Rakgi said nothing; he was busy dealing with his wound. The bite didn’t seem to be too deep, but it _stung_.

Bartos cast a detached pink eye over the Guardian. “Come on, Rakgi. You should go see Nesita about that bite.” He glanced at Lailyn. “Do you think you can get the Scaleback back to the hoard without hurting anyone else?”

“I can only try,” the Skydancer sighed, demurely.


	28. Chapter 28

“Um… Lorette? Nesita? Can I get some advice?”

Lorette looked up from where she was curled around the clan’s unhatched eggs to see Rakgi vacillating in the doorway of the hatchery. He was fidgeting, claws scratching at the floor, tail twitching, and generally looked as upset as Lorette had ever seen him.

“What’s wrong?” Nesita asked.

“I, uh… I sort of made Bartos really mad and I, um, was wondering if you have any idea how to placate him.”

“Bartos?” Lorette echoed. The studious Tundra didn’t seem to have much of a temper – what was Rakgi so worried about? “I’ve never seen him mad.”

“Me either,” Nesita said, concern in her voice. She would know, wouldn’t she? She was his mother. “What happened, Rakgi? What did you do?”

“I resent the assumption that I _did_  anything,” Rakgi replied, his voice brittle with injured pride. When he spoke again, that certainty had dropped away, leaving him sounding nervous and miserable. “But I may have, er, accidentally, um, set some of his scrolls on fire.”

“How did you manage that?” The words fell from Lorette’s mouth before she could filter them, and she flinched when she realized that her tone had been disbelieving, even accusatory.

“It’s a long story and I really don’t want to tell it and _just tell me how to apologize_ because Bartos keeps giving me this death stare and I’m afraid he’s plotting revenge and the next time we go into the Coliseum he’ll push me into a pack of phytocats or something.”

“Have you _tried_  to apologize?” Lorette said. “I know Bartos isn’t always the most open dragon, but he can’t hold it against you if you acknowledge that it was an honest mistake and you’re very sorry.”

“Mmm,” Nesita said, her tone doubtful. “Yep, I think you might be in quite a bit of trouble, Rakgi. I’d stay out of the Coliseum for a while if I were you.” Now she sounded amused.

“That’s super helpful, thanks.” Was that true fear under Rakgi’s heavy sarcasm? “Any other great tips?”

“My recommendation would be that you replace the scrolls you destroyed,” Nesita said. “I doubt Bartos will hold much of a grudge once his reading materials have been returned.”

Rakgi’s wings drooped. “But – that could take weeks. That’s dozens of scrolls, some of them rare – I’d have to go out trading for them – it’d take all the gold I could earn, wouldn’t it?”

“Something to consider before you ‘accidentally’ burn scrolls,” Nesita said, and Lorette realized that she might be as miffed as her son about the destruction. Well, Lorette wasn’t thrilled by it herself, but if Rakgi had just made a mistake… A moment later, Nesita seemed to take pity on Rakgi, and she added, “You could see if anyone’s read them and can perhaps copy them back out – try talking to Kelsus, Jarith, Zarya, Sovari… Lorette here might actually be able to help you out.”

“Oh! Yes, I probably could. What scrolls are gone? I have some memorized.”

“Great.” Rakgi still didn’t sound thrilled about the prospect. It must have been better than facing betrayal in battle, though, because he started to rattle off a list for Lorette.


	29. Chapter 29

“Hey, I found something,” Kelsus said, crest waving. “An old treasure chest. Someone must have forgotten to open it – it’s been sitting in the hoard for ages.”

“Very nice, Kelsus,” Bartos said. The Fae wouldn’t catch the disinterest or touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“Very nice,” Sovari repeated, in much the same tone. She glanced up from her scroll in a motion that eerily echoed Bartos’.

“We should open it together,” Kelsus declared. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m not strong enough to lift the lid. I want to share my discovery with you guys. I can’t wait to see what’s inside – gold, jewels, all sorts of treasure.”

“There could be anything inside,” Sovari said, picking up on Kelsus’ excitement despite his monotone voice and atypical body language. Did the Nocturne understand Fae expressions? How? _Interesting_ , Bartos thought.

“I hate to burst the bubble you two have blown,” Bartos said, rolling up his scroll, “but there’s probably nothing interesting inside that treasure chest. Most likely, it’s just a few trinkets, maybe some old cloth.”

“We should still check it out, though,” Kelsus said. Even with his incomplete understanding of Fae body language, Bartos could tell from the twitching of his crest and wings that Kelsus was more agitated than his even tone let on. “Maybe there is something cool.”

“Yeah, we should definitely go see,” Sovari said, and Bartos looked skeptically at her. She probably would have advocated jumping into a volcano if enough dragons around her were in favor of the idea. “Please, Bartos? Kelsus and I are too little to open it.”

“Oh, fine.” The Tundra hauled himself to his feet, sighing. “But when we’re standing in front of a pile of rusted junk, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

A few minutes later, they were standing in the hoard in front of a dusty, iron-bound chest. As Kelsus drew breath to comment, Bartos heaved the lid open, having no patience to stand on ceremony. He reached inside to pull out the contents, and – “Ouch!”

The top of the treasure chest was a mosaic of glass shards, and one of them had pricked Bartos.

“Sorry,” Kelsus said. He didn’t sound contrite, but then he never sounded _anything_. “Let me get those.”

The Fae’s nimble fingers started to pick out the shards, and within seconds Sovari was helping him – or imitating him. Soon they had it cleared out, revealing…

“Ah, yes, some old cloth.” Bartos picked up the fabric and shook it out: a couple garments, nothing special. He peered into the shadows at the bottom of the chest: a handful of gold and gems, nothing more than in any of the other many chests he’d opened. “I can’t say I’m particularly impressed, Kelsus.”

The Fae’s crest made a complicated motion, the meaning of which completely escaped Bartos. “Sorry. Guess I wasted your time. I had fun, though. Except for the part where you got hurt, Bartos.”

“It’s all right,” Bartos said, a bit grudgingly – but Kelsus wouldn’t notice. “I suppose I’m always glad to help.”


	30. Chapter 30

Gavin paused at the high-pitched noise. He didn’t _smell_  anything that could make that sound, and he looked around and saw only the cool, dark forest. Perhaps he’d just heard a birdcall? He should try to find the bird.

The giggle-like noise came again, and Gavin tilted his head, trying to locate its source. This way? Yes, this way: Gavin padded towards it, pushing through the branches that snatched at his fur. As the sound emerged a third time, he stepped out into a clearing around a deep, dark pool.

He caught a quick glimpse of two Maren on smooth, mossy rocks at the edge of the water before they saw him and slid immediately into the pool. One submerged completely, while the other’s head and shoulders remained above water.

“What do you want, dragon?” it snapped.

“I like your scales,” Gavin said. It was a scout – he thought, based on that brief glimpse of the other one, that they both were – and its green scales were set off nicely against its paler seafoam skin. Its most stunning aspect, though, were the great blue-purple fins sprouting from its tail.

That tail twitched as the Maren regarded his statement. “And you’re a very pretty dragon,” it said at last: its colors did match Gavin’s own rather nicely. “Is that all?”

Gavin frowned as he looked at the pool. “I didn’t know Maren could live in ponds. How did you get there? Are you all right?”

“We’re _fine_ ,” the Maren said. “Just looking for a little _privacy_.”

“If you’re stuck – ” Gavin began.

“There’s an underground connection to the Sea of a Thousand Currents, all right?” the Maren said, sounding exasperated. “Now will you please _go away_?”

Gavin considered the request. The Maren was pretty; it would have made a nice familiar. But he was alone, and _it_  clearly wasn’t having any of that – might as well save his acquisitive urges for the Coliseum, or for songbirds. He’d find another Maren scout somewhere, one that actually wanted to be a familiar – one less inclined to snap at him. Inclining his head, he moved off.


	31. Chapter 31

“Nesita! Delemont! Nesita!”

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Gavin said as his son barreled past him.

The lanky Skydancer stopped and looked down at his father with wild eyes. “I have to talk to Nesita and Delemont _right away_. Do you know where they are?”

Gavin shrugged. “No idea. Hey, which of these flowers do you think is prettier?”

Teeth bared, Versiaz slashed at one of the flowers Gavin held up. “I don’t have time for this nonsense! I need to find Delemont!”

“I guess you didn’t like that one?” Gavin said, disappointed. “That … that wasn’t the best way to show it. I still could have used it, just maybe not in pride of pla – ”

Versiaz snarled and spun away. “Nesita! Delemont!”

“Right here, quit your caterwauling.” The Mirror emerged out of a nearby tunnel. “If this is about your thrice-cursed grooming routines again, I’m going to tear out some of those feathers you’re so proud of.”

“Is something bothering you, Versiaz?” Nesita said, more pleasantly, emerging from a different direction. “You smell – ” 

“Don’t fuss; there isn’t time.” Versiaz’s head swiveled quickly between the two dragons. He reminded Gavin of a bird, something small and twitchy. “We need to seal all the tunnels right away. Maybe leave one for supply. As long as we make sure no one can get in.”

“Are you crazy?” Delemont laughed harshly. “What’s gotten into you? Besides that stupid rotclaw you’ve taken to wearing. Arcanist, are those things fashionable in the Wyrmwound now?”

Versiaz went very stiff, staring at Delemont. Gavin hadn’t noticed the addition of the parasite, which wasn’t surprising, since Tundra were generally lacking in visual memory. Not to mention that he and Versiaz weren’t particularly close, for all that he was Gavin’s only hatchling to decide to stick with the clan, and Gavin hadn’t seen the Skydancer in a while. It probably was some kind of Plague fashion.

“I don’t think you realize the gravity – ” Versiaz said.

“I don’t think you realize how much I dislike you wasting my time,” Delemont snarled, suddenly dangerous. “I’m not the mirror you want to strut at, hatchling.”

“But there’s – ”

“It’s all right, Versiaz,” Nesita said. Delemont had already vanished down the tunnel again, leaving at a sprint. “There’s no need to seal the tunnels. We’re safe.”

Versiaz shook his head, but his narrow muzzle had taken on an entirely different expression, and he turned without another word and left, muttering something about “if they won’t believe…”

“That was odd,” Gavin commented, when he was gone.

“I hope he doesn’t keep it up,” Nesita said, frowning vaguely. “I’ve read something about rotclaws … I need to go ask Bartos about it. See you later, Gavin.”

“Farewell.” Gavin returned his attention to his flowers. It was too bad that he’d lost one.


	32. Chapter 32

“Hey. Hey you.”

Kelsus turned to see Versiaz beckoning at him. That much body language, at least, he understood. “Yes?” he said.

“Shh, not so loud.” Versiaz looked around. “Come with me, will you? Something funny’s going on, and I need a witness, or Delemont will just laugh in my face again. He’ll see,” the Skydancer added, at a lower volume. “They’ll all see.”

“Okay,” Kelsus said. “Where are we going?”

“Not so loud,” Versiaz repeated. “I don’t want anyone else to see – not till you can confirm … I know what they say about me, you know. Everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

“Do they?”

Versiaz’s face contorted, although Kelsus had no idea what that meant. “The sarcasm is not appreciated.”

“I wasn’t … ” Kelsus paused. Since no one ever noticed when he _was_  trying to be funny … “Can you help me do that again?”

“What?” Versiaz looked at Kelsus for a moment. “Maybe later. Come on, we’ve got to get going before it’s gone.”

“Okay.” Kelsus fluttered after the Skydancer, still musing on the mercurial nature of humor. Was it a Fae-others communication problem? Jarith never laughed at his jokes either, but then Jarith didn’t laugh at anything.

“This way,” Versiaz said. The two dragons took off, flying through the dusk, over the Crystalspine Reaches and into the Starwood Strand. It was a long flight, and Kelsus fell considerably behind Versiaz over the course of it; the Skydancer was considerably faster. 

“Versiaz!” Kelsus called once. “I have tiny wings!”

But Versiaz didn’t seem to hear him. Still, Kelsus at least managed to keep his clan-mate in sight, until finally Versiaz descended into the Starwood Strand. They’d come almost to the Focal Point, and worry started to prick at Kelsus’ crest. There were reports of strange things out here, and it was just the two of them …

But strange things were why they were here, weren’t they? Versiaz had said he had something to show Kelsus.

Yet Kelsus had barely landed when the Skydancer let out a cry. “It’s gone!”

“What’s gone?” Kelsus asked, between ragged breaths. He’d had to work hard to keep up with Versiaz.

“The, the thing!” Versiaz spun around, staring around the little clearing they’d landed in. “I swear it was here. It was … like … it was a thing … really weird – so many eyeballs. Arcanist, I can’t believe it’s gone! Maybe it just sort of oozed away?”

Kelsus peered into the trees around them. “I don’t see anything.”

“Of course you don’t.” Had Versiaz’s tone changed? Kelsus wasn’t sure. “Of course. Nobody ever sees anything. Nobody even has their _Shade-taken_  eyes open. I’m the crazy one.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Kelsus offered, helpfully. “I just don’t see anything. Maybe whatever you saw did leave.”

“Sure. Whatever. Let’s go home.” Versiaz took off without waiting for Kelsus’ response.

“Wait up!” Kelsus started after him, worried. Strange thing or no strange thing, he didn’t want to be left alone here.


	33. Chapter 33

“Zar _ya_ ,” Wanderer whined. “This is really not what I want to do with my nights. This grave dust is never going to come out of my feathers. Can’t we just go get you some nice squirrel bones from the hoard and call it a night?”

“You’ll keep watch, unless you want Delemont to know who _really_  took his armor.” The Mirror’s voice echoed, muffled, out of the hole she was digging. Wanderer leaned over the edge and peered into the pit, which had completely swallowed Zarya. He let out a low whistle, which just happened to be a rude word in Coatl. She’d really gotten down there. Under more innocent circumstances, he might have been impressed by the Mirror’s digging ability – but he really didn’t want to be here.

“Squirrel bones are great,” he said, returning to scanning the dark forest around them. “They rattle, break – you can make puppets from them – whatever you’re looking for down there, I’m sure we can find the appropriate rodent femur in the hoard. Let’s just go.”

Zarya’s head appeared over the edge of the pit. “I am _trying_  to locate Imperial bones to further my research. Since dragons of that breed never permit others to observe their funerary customs or corpses, their decompositional process and even skeletal anatomy are largely unknown. I do not believe that I will get any of that information from _squirrels_.”

“You never know,” Wanderer said weakly, unable to think of a decent comeback. “Mysterious critters, squirrels.”

Oh, he was going to get Zarya for this. How, he wasn’t sure yet, but he fully intended to make sure that the Mirror felt the very discomfort he was currently immersed in – and with her macabre hobby, it shouldn’t be hard to frame her for _something_.

“Just keep watch, and stop distracting me. The sooner I finish, the sooner we can leave.”

Wanderer returned to his vigil, pacing a bit: he was antsy. Then it occurred to him that he probably didn’t want to leave Coatl footprints at the site of a robbed Imperial grave. He brushed his tail along the loose soil, erasing the tracks – and getting himself even dustier. _Shade take it_ ; he wasn’t going to put up with this any longer. There was one very simple way to get Zarya to abandon the project, at least for tonight.

“Zarya,” he called, raising his voice, inserting just the right register of panic, “someone’s coming!”

“Yell my name a little louder, why don’t you?” the Mirror hissed, clambering out of the pit. She glanced around. “I don’t see anyone.”

“They dropped into the trees,” Wanderer lied, urgently. “We could wait for them to be visible again, but by that time they’ll be close enough to nab us – let’s get out of here while we still can!”

Zarya shot Wanderer a skeptical look, but apparently she decided not to risk it – she gave a curt nod, said, “Make your own way back to the lair. Don’t let yourself be followed,” and sprinted off.

“Thanks for the concern,” Wanderer muttered, in Coatl, taking wing. But at least he was rid of her. For the moment.


	34. Chapter 34

“Rakgi, catch!” Lorette called, tossing a scroll into the air. Rakgi didn’t react in time to grab it, and it fluttered down over his face, draping itself across his horns.

“Thanks so much,” Rakgi said, keeping his voice as flat and unenthusiastic as he possibly could. “I always wanted a blindfold.”

Lorette laughed, high-pitched and a bit nervous, and said, “I just got back from the market. Now I’ll go get the rest of the clan – they’ll want to see, won’t they? You’re going to be a Pearlcatcher!”

“Wait, what?” Rakgi started to tear the scroll off his face, but when he heard it rip, he had to stop and take his time to disentangle it – because if it was what he thought it was, it was too valuable to ruin. By the time he could see again, Lorette was gone, with no indication of which tunnel she’d twisted off into.

He turned his attention to the scroll instead. Yep: there was the vague drawing of a Pearlcatcher on an outer leaf, and the magic humming within. Rakgi sat down rather suddenly, startled. The clan had been spending a good bit of treasure on altering his appearance lately, and he’d known a breed change was the end goal, but … he hadn’t realized it would be _today_. It would be weird, wouldn’t it? The sudden change to his body, suddenly being much smaller … He wasn’t sure if he’d like it. Of course, he could always change back, but that would mean buying another scroll and negating the great expenditure of treasure … While changing one’s appearance with a gene scroll had become common, no one else in the clan had undergone a breed change yet, and Rakgi wasn’t sure he liked the idea of being the first.

Footsteps brought the Guardian – or should he say Pearlcatcher-to-be – back to the situation at hand, as a gaggle of dragons emerged from out of the tunnels. Rakgi swallowed hard as he surveyed the crowd who’d come to witness his transformation: Nesita, Lorette, Geras, Kelsus, Jarith, Sovari, Zura. That was a lot of eyes.

“I, um, I wasn’t aware that we were ready for this,” Rakgi said, into their stares.

“The purchasing opportunity came up rather suddenly,” Nesita said. Her voice was calm and soothing, as always; it reminded Rakgi as being a hatchling. He’d been small then; surely he could handle it again? “It was an abrupt decision – so you can wait till you feel comfortable making the change, if you prefer; we can always hang onto the scroll.”

Lorette looked disappointed by this prospect, but Geras was nodding. Rakgi checked the others’ reactions, but Zura didn’t seem to have understood the statement, he couldn’t read the Faes’ body language, and Sovari was just staring at him with terribly blank eyes.

“No, it’s OK,” he said. The longer he put it off, the more nervous he’d get, right? Not, of course, that he was afraid. Not at all. “I’ll do it. There’s no point in waiting.”

“Great!” Lorette said. She grinned. “I think you’ll make a great Pearlcatcher, Rakgi.”

“Pearlcatchers are known for their vanity,” Jarith added, deadpan. Rakgi shot the Fae a glare.

“Never mind him,” Nesita intervened. “Go on, Rakgi.”

“Go on,” Sovari echoed. Rakgi couldn’t exactly consider that support – if the other dragons had been jeering him, so would Sovari. But he might as well do it. As he’d said, no point waiting.

“OK,” he said. “Here I go.”

He reached for the scroll, opened it, and began to read the spell inside. It _should_  work, even though he had no magical abilities – would he suddenly gain them as a Pearlcatcher, a magic-enabled species? He hoped not; that’d be almost as difficult to deal with as his size.

Rakgi didn’t get far into the incantation before he started to feel the effects. Spots danced across his eyes, purple and green and gyrating, and he saw and _felt_  nothing but bright light, he couldn’t say how long – and then he was back again, his entire body feeling _wrong_ , different muscles connecting to lighter bones. Before he could react, his neck jerked back – a much shorter neck, and smoother – and he coughed and heaved his head forward, narrow muzzle opening and regurgitating a perfect iridescent sphere. His pearl. He picked it up, clumsily, although it wasn’t as hard to maneuver his shorter arm as he’d feared – the spell must have some adaptation built in, so users wouldn’t have to completely re-learn all movements.

“How do you feel, Rakgi?” Nesita asked, and that was when Rakgi remembered that he had an audience.

“Ah, good, very good.” There wasn’t as much resonance behind his voice anymore; it had gone higher. Rakgi struggled to get his feet under him, managing to step on his new whiskers, which _really hurt_. “Ouch! Uh, I’m fine. I got it.”

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Geras asked. Rakgi had trouble locating her for a moment; then he remembered to look up. He let out an involuntary squeak; she was _huge_. His memories told him that he should be bigger than her, but there she loomed. Looking around quickly, he saw that even Zura was bigger than him; Nesita and Lorette were smaller, but not by as much as he’d like, and the Faes had swelled from tiny to – well, to the size Nesita used to be.

“I’m fine,” Rakgi repeated. He backed away. “I think I’m just going to go, uh, try and get used to this. I’ll be in my room.”

“Pearl!” Zura said, darting forward, and Rakgi realized that he’d left his newly-created pearl behind. An unfamiliar panic shot through him, and he snatched it quickly from the Coatl, turned, and dashed out of the room, stumbling on new legs.


	35. Chapter 35

Delemont didn’t, as a rule, worry about others. Either they could manage, or they couldn’t. But even he was starting to get concerned as his Coliseum team ventured further and further into the Ashfall Waste.

He wasn’t worried about Zura. The Coatl seemed thrilled to be back in her breed’s homeland; the heat seemed only to enliven her, and she was scurrying along nicely. She was also making a number of weird trills and grating noises, which was _not_  nice, and Delemont would have to find a way to shut her up soon. He’d better deal with Nesita first, though.

The Tundra was lagging behind her clan-mates, panting. As the temperature increased, she’d gradually gotten slower and slower; Delemont was afraid she’d stop moving soon. He certainly wasn’t going to carry her; he might have been able to manage it, weight-wise, but she’d get fur _everywhere_.

“Hey, fuzzball,” he called back to Nesita. “You OK?”

“Fine,” Nesita panted. “Fine.”

“I don’t think you’re fine if you can’t even get out the word.” Delemont turned and grabbed Zura’s tail as she slipped past him. “Hey. Stick around, will you? You can’t go rushing off while we’re talking.”

The Coatl snapped at his claw, which was new, but when he released her, snarling, she looked back at Nesita and halted. “OK?” she said.

“That’s what I just asked, as you’d know if you paid attention,” Delemont muttered. Zura ignored him. She seemed to understand him even less than most of their clan-mates; perhaps she’d learned that most of his comments weren’t worth the effort of mental translation.

“I’m … just a little … hot,” Nesita managed, with considerable effort. “I could really use some water.”

“Water,” Zura repeated, and scurried off, apparently in search of the life-giving liquid.

“You want to head back?” Delemont asked. “If you can barely walk, you’re not going to be able to fight. I don’t want to have to defend you.”

Nesita’s only response was a grunt. It figured, Delemont thought, that she’d hold them up like this. What use was all that fur, again? True, she might have been better able to hold up to freezing temperatures – but they weren’t in the Southern Icefield.

“Whatever,” Delemont said, sprawling on the ground next to Nesita. “I guess we’ve got to wait for the featherbrain anyway. You think she’s going to find water? She is pretty good at finding food and stuff – don’t tell her I said that.”

Nesita shook with what might have been a laugh. Or it might have been heatstroke. Delemont sat up, staring at her. “Seriously, we should get out of here. As soon as Zura gets back. This was stupid anyway.”

“Aww,” Nesita coughed. “You do care.”

“Ugh.” Delemont turned away. Yes, they’d leave as soon as Zura got back with a drink for Nesita. Delemont didn’t care anymore if he had to carry the Tundra; the clan needed her. Couldn’t have her baking like this. Not, again, that he’d ever tell her so.


	36. Chapter 36

Acrux couldn’t shut out the voices. He lay in the dark, eyes closed, listening to them whisper and mutter and hum.

 _Don’t know what she’s_ , one said. Another: _one foot in front of the other in front of the oh Lightweaver where is it._  A lighter, higher voice, even more fragmented: _no no danger fly away fly away can’t fly hurts too big hunter help_. There was another one, a metallic buzz that barely resolved itself into words: _Lightning. Storm. Power. Need power._

Sighing, Acrux opened his eyes, and they faded to a vague background murmur. He’d need to check out that last one. Maybe he could make something of it.

“Acrux? Are you home?”

He frowned; he’d missed that one, in his earlier survey. The Spiral poked her head into his cavern, blinking rapidly. “Acrux? It’s really dark in here. You must be out, right?”

“No,” he said. “I’m here.”

“Oh!” She jumped a bit, folding back on herself, and Acrux climbed to his feet and lit the lantern over his workspace. “Ah, yes, I see. I should have spotted that.” Lorette was gesturing to the deepsea bulb that hung over Acrux’s forehead, lighting his muzzle a gentle pink. 

“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable and had everything you need.” She smiled. “It wasn’t so long ago that you were just a hatchling, was it? A little noodle. And now you’re bigger than me, if it’s not too annoying for me to harp on about your childhood.”

“It’s fine.” Acrux folded his face into a smile. “I’m glad you dropped by,” he lied; he really didn’t care one way or the other.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” A touch of a frown flitted across Lorette’s face. “Whatever it is you were doing, not that it’s any of my business.”

“It was good to talk to you.” Another falsehood to hide his indifference, but Lorette seemed pleased as she looped off down the corridor. Acrux closed his eyes: _good odd but good nice kid odd’s not bad don’t assume._  He smiled a bit. Lorette was a nice dragon.


	37. Chapter 37

“Lailyn.”

Lailyn looked up. “Yes?”

“What, exactly, happened to my scroll on the cultivation of plant familiars?” Bartos’ tone was very controlled. That, more than anything else, told Lailyn she might not want to react with her customary levity.

“Well, you see, I needed some scrap paper.”

“Scrap. Paper.” Bartos’ eyes narrowed.

“Yes. Kelsus and I were engaged in a friendly mathematical argument.” Lailyn smiled sweetly. “At least, it was friendly on my part; who knows, with Kelsus? And I needed to do some figures to prove him wrong.”

“And the most available spare paper for you was my scroll. The scroll that Wanderer is now begging me for because he doesn’t know what to do with his new Janustrap.”

“Aw, Bartos, when you put it like that it sounds bad.” Lailyn rubbed up against the Tundra, burying her face in his fluff. “Come on, Barty, you’ll get another one. You always do.”

“That was a first edition manuscript.” Under his fur, all of Bartos’ muscles were tensed; Lailyn could feel it. He’d never offered her physical violence before, and she wondered if he would now. She wasn’t particularly worried. If he tried to hit her – or spell her – she’d zap him into next week. It’d be entertaining, probably, seeing all his fur stand on end after the electricity ripped through him.

Bartos rested his head heavily on Lailyn’s shoulders, speaking directly into her ear. “You will get me a new copy of that scroll. You will take the expense out of your own pocket, not the clan’s general funds, and you will never, ever do something like this again.”

“Will I, Bartos?” Lailyn leaned her head back against his, on her long serpentine neck. He was nice and warm, and she would have been comfortable if only he weren’t so stiff.

“Yes. You will. Or the next time we go into the Coliseum together, you’ll find yourself in quite a lot of trouble.” Bartos’ voice was quiet and even as he made the threat; Lailyn was impressed. She hadn’t been sure the fuzzy bookworm had the steel in him. “If not sooner,” he breathed into her ear.

“You flatter me,” she said, rubbing her nose against his. “I’ll get your scroll, Barty. But don’t imagine it’s because I’m afraid of you. Nobody takes Tundras seriously, sweetheart. You’re all just big piles of fluff.”

“Are we?” Bartos looked down, significantly, and Lailyn glanced down to see his talons pressed against her heart, the pink glow of magic building in them. Then he dropped his claw. “I won’t offer a clan-mate violence, Lailyn. But I need not have your back either. You’d better have that book in my room before the next time we go into the Coliseum – and if it takes too long, we will find ourselves there, trust me.”

And then he was gone. Lailyn looked after him for a moment, the smile slowly sliding off her face. So the fluff ball did have teeth after all.


	38. Chapter 38

“Could you help me out?” Kelsus asked. “I’m shedding a scale right between my wings, and it really itches, but I can’t reach it, and no one else has small enough hands.”

Fee stared at the Fae. It was, as far as she could recall, the first time any of the dragons besides Geras had addressed her directly. She had vaguely assumed that it was considered rude for one dragon to interfere with another’s familiar, though she really had no idea what went for etiquette among dragons. Serthis manners mainly had to do with the situations in which you could or couldn’t try to slaughter your fellow Serthis, and most situations fell into the former category.

“Please?” Kelsus said. He didn’t manage to plead or wheedle, since those would have required much more tone than he could muster. Somehow, though, he still managed to convey an earnest entreaty.

“All right,” Fee said. She supposed it couldn’t do any harm, and it was always best to conciliate the creatures at whose pleasure you survived, even if this one was fairly small and harmless. He had plenty of friends who weren’t, including Fee’s own master, Geras. Not that Fee thought anyone would hurt her if she didn’t comply. She was fairly sure that harming another’s familiar _would_  be a breach of dragon etiquette, and she didn’t think Geras would hurt her.

“Great.” Kelsus turned around, spreading his wings slightly, and Fee coiled her tail under her and bent down. Kelsus was a _small_  dragon, smaller even than Fee, though his wings were wider than her shoulders. “I guess Jarith has little hands too, but he always just gives me this stare if I ask him. Says he’s busy.”

Was a response to that required? Fee didn’t have one in mind, so she just started scratching at the dry, flaky scales in the center of Kelsus’ back. The little dragon leaned into her hands, made a low vibration – of pleasure, apparently. Fee knew from experience that dry scales didn’t feel good. She could reach most of hers, though.

“Thank you,” Kelsus said, when she finished. The Fae hopped up and clung to the wall so that he was at her eye level. “That was very kind of you.”

Fee hardly knew the meaning of the word.


	39. Chapter 39

Geras slammed the Fuiran down, feeling the creature’s back snap, and turned, snarling, to face the next of her enemies. Beside her, Zarya was savaging a Storm Seeker, blood dripping from her jaws as she worried at the bird. Lightning crackled round the Mirror’s face as the beast tried to defend itself, but Zarya didn’t even seem to notice. Where was Gavin?

A bolt of nature magic, smelling of loam and leaves, slammed into the Storm Seeker in Zarya’s mouth and answered that question. Her teammates had the bird handled. Hearing a hiss and snarl from her left, Geras spun; coming at her was –

Fee?

No, it was another Opheodrys Serthis, almost identical to Geras’ familiar except for the snarl on its face, the murderous fury in its eyes. The moment of Geras’ hesitation, her false recognition, had cost her; the Serthis wrapped around her neck, teeth sinking into the back of her skull. Geras’ Guardian hide was too thick for it to get much purchase there, but the blades in its hands stabbed towards her eyes, and she was starting to have trouble breathing –

A slash touched with water magic, the clean smell of the sea, and the Serthis fell away, cut nearly in half. Zarya looked at Geras, her four eyes sharp.

“Slow and stupid,” the Mirror snarled.

Geras shook the rest of Serthis’ body from her neck and glanced around. All of their attackers were down.

“I _have_ never seen you let an enemy get the better of you so easily,” Gavin commented, his tone far lighter than Zarya’s.

Shaking her head, Geras said nothing. There was no explanation she could make; she would simply have to avoid that mistake next time.

She felt cold despite the heat of the Sandswept Delta. Fee never seemed bothered by the idea of the dragons fighting her brethren – Flamecaller, from what she said, Serthis society was founded on fighting each other. But every time Geras glanced down, she saw her familiar’s face on the other Serthis’ corpse.

Better get stronger quickly, so that they could move on to the next area and leave the Serthis behind.


	40. Chapter 40

“So … that’s my new familiar?” Kelsus said. No one could have detected discomfort in his flat tone, but another Fae could have read the unhappiness in his drooping crest. Unfortunately, the clan’s only other Fae, Jarith, was not present. Jarith probably wouldn’t have cared anyway, Kelsus thought, uncharacteristically bitter. It was a source of hurt for him that the only other dragon who could actually understand his body language seemed inclined to avoid him.

“Yep,” Nesita said. Kelsus peered up at the Tundra, but he couldn’t tell what her mood was.

Kelsus looked doubtfully at the puddle of slime. “Does it … do anything?”

“Good question!” Nesita said. “Mostly, no. But it’s been known to moan if you do this.”

She sparked a harmless bit of magic into the ooze, and a bubble rose in its center – a bubble almost as big as Kelsus himself, possessed of two flat white eyes. And, yes, it moaned, a hollow sound like the end of the world.

“Great,” Kelsus said. “Sounds great.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Nesita said, and Kelsus had no idea whether she was joking. The Tundra trotted off, careful to keep her fur out of the pool of goo.

With Nesita gone, Kelsus turned back to his new familiar. He took a couple mincing steps, but it didn’t follow him. Well, he couldn’t leave it here; someone would slip on it. Maybe he could find a vial or something to put it in. Or a sponge. What would happened if he scooped just part of it up, he wondered? Would it split into two creatures, or would the rest of it follow, oozing along?

Well, he’d probably have to see.


	41. Chapter 41

Sovari didn’t like being asked to lead. It went against her nature. She was a Nocturne; she skulked in corners and did whatever other dragons were doing. She _didn’t_  decide what to do, and she definitely didn’t decide what other dragons would do.

But she was the oldest and strongest dragon on this expedition, and the other two were looking at her expectantly.

Sovari also didn’t like strange dragons. She was fond of her clan; she could predict and mimic their actions well. These two were blank slates to her, and she didn’t know them. Oh, technically they were part of the clan – they’d been born into it, at least. But they’d decided early on to leave it, and they were only here to train before joining the Arcanist’s forces. Sovari herself was not particularly keen on training, unless she stood beside someone who was, but she was also the only one at the appropriate level to chaperone these two.

“Do you, in fact, have a plan in place?” asked the Tundra. His name started with a T, but Sovari hadn’t bothered to remember it.

“Do we need one?” Sovari asked.

The Ridgeback laughed and moved as if she’d like to slap Sovari on the back but thought better of it. She was more than ten times Sovari’s size; a slap on the back probably would have put paid to the entire expedition, at least for Sovari. The Ridgeback’s name made the Tundra’s look intelligible, consisting mostly of a tangle of vowels. They were related, the two of them; it took Sovari a moment to work out how. The Tundra was the offspring of Gavin and Lailyn, whose son Versiaz was the Ridgeback’s father.

“I like it!” said the Ridgeback. “We don’t need a plan! We walk out into the wild, wait for something to try to kill us, then try to kill it back.”

“Yes.” Sovari nodded, relieved to cede her leadership responsibilities to the Ridgeback.  She couldn’t have guaranteed that she wouldn’t have agreed if the other dragon had suggested flying off into the Shade, but at least the decision was made. Though if the Ridgeback were going to lead them, Sovari supposed she really should learn her name.


	42. Chapter 42

“Geras?” Gavin called, hearing heavy footsteps entering his cavern. He couldn’t look to see who it was because at the moment he was curled up under a potted seaberry bush, carefully plucking off the ripe fruit.

“’Fraid not,” said a voice that Gavin didn’t recognize. Gavin frowned and sniffed the air; he didn’t recognize the scent, either, although it could be masked by the fragrances of the various fruits, flowers and herbs growing in his room. He slipped out from under the bush and turned to see a purple Snapper standing in his cave’s entrance. He still didn’t recognize her. “I just wanted to see if I could get some seeds and cuttings from you.”

“Are you new?” Gavin asked, confused.

The Snapper inclined her head. “I’m Talva.”

“Gavin.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I joined the clan recently, and I’m looking to get my garden started.”

“I’d be glad to help,” Gavin said, returning Talva’s smile. “What do you need?”

She rattled off an extensive list of herbs and plants that she sought, and the smile slid off Gavin’s face. He was impressed, and he didn’t have very many of the species she was looking for. Gavin’s collection centered on beautiful plants, those with colorful flowers or leaves or plump fruit; Talva seemed to seek flora with medicinal properties. Or magical properties.

“I’ll give you what I can,” Gavin said, going to his collection of seeds and picking some out. “The rest I’m afraid you’ll have to find on your own.”

“I thank you for any aid,” Talva said, bowing her head.

“Let me know how your garden does.” Gavin smiled and handed Talva a pouch of seeds.

“I will.” The Snapper smiled. “I’ll be adding to it soon.”


	43. Chapter 43

“It’s just … not … right!” Xylia shrieked, plucking at her tail feathers in frustration. Upon noticing what she was doing, she forced herself to stop; her tail was her brush, and if she damaged it, she wouldn’t be able to paint. An onlooker might have assumed that the tail was already damaged, since it was stained with blood old and new, but that was just Xylia’s medium.

Instead, she put her head in her talons and ran her claws through her feathery crest, trying to resist the urge to pull at that. She wasn’t completely successful, and she found herself staring at a long, brown feather in her claws. Xylia groaned.

“Trouble in paradise?” asked a voice from the doorway. Xylia jumped and turned to see a purple Snapper standing in the entrance to her cave.

“Oh, it’s you.” Wincing, Xylia realized that the sentence had come out rather flatter and more unpleasant than she’d intended. “Sorry, I mean … Never mind.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Talva said, grinning. “Snappers have thick skin.”

Xylia had absolutely nothing to say to that, so it was fortunate that Talva picked up the conversation again in a couple seconds.

“I could hear you shouting from my room,” Talva said. “Almost withered my cindervine.”

“Sorry,” Xylia said miserably, although it occurred to her that if Talva’s plants were that sound-sensitive, she was going to have a hard time rearing them, even out here at the edge of the lair. Acrux was fairly quiet, but Xylia could hardly hold herself in from venting her frustration when her art wasn’t coming along as she expected.

“Don’t worry about it.” Talva smiled. “I just wanted to see what’s wrong.”

“Oh, yes.” Xylia swung her tail at the canvas she was working on. “I just can’t get this painting to come out right. Whatever I do, I can’t get the exact combination of textures I want. It’s very frustrating,” she added, primly, as if she hadn’t just been tearing her feathers out.

“I imagine it would be,” Talva said. “I might be able to help, though. Don’t move; I’ll be right back.”

Xylia went very still as the Snapper lumbered out of the room, taking the purple dragon at her word. Her eyes kept wandering to the unfinished painting, the sinuous brown and red design that so vexed her. Her claws twitched; she wasn’t completely sure that she shouldn’t just tear the canvas apart, rip it to shreds. It would be a satisfactory way to vent her emotions, but it would mean giving up on the piece. But she might as well, right?

Not until Talva returned, and fortunately the Snapper was back in minutes. Talva came carrying pouches of seeds and leaves, at which Xylia looked rather askance. The Wildclaw was aware that some artists mixed plant pigments for their paints, but her materials were more direct.

“I suspect we can use these to alter the consistency of your, ah, paint,” Talva said. Xylia glanced at the Snapper; she did know it was blood, right? “Let’s experiment, shall we?”


	44. Chapter 44

Unseen, Jarith watched the dragons passing below him and let out a long sigh. There was just … something missing. He wasn’t enjoying himself; he had no ties here.

Of course, he hadn’t been very open to forming ties; he was cold, he knew, and never tried to engage with his clan-mates. A few of them cared about him simply because he was their clan-mate – Lorette and Nesita sprung to mind – but most could take him or leave him, and some actively disliked him.

He didn’t mind that, though. There was nothing bad about being part of Clan Lukra. It was just … there wasn’t much good about it, either.

Jarith examined his options. He could stay in the clan, keep things as unsatisfying as they currently were. He could stay in the clan and make an effort to be more friendly, do some reading with Lorette and Bartos, take notes for Zarya. Or he could leave.

He could look for another clan, or he could leave the society of mortal dragons altogether and go serve the Arcanist. Pausing, he realized that he lacked data enough to choose either option. What would it be like to serve the Arcanist? Many of the clan’s offspring, including his own, had chosen that path for their futures. And he had never heard from them again. That was standard; no one came back from exaltation. Which made the choice rather … worryingly permanent. He might love life in the Observatory, but if he didn’t, he would have no way out.

“Jarith?” The voice cut into the Fae’s thoughts, and he froze. No one should be able to see him here; he was wedged into a crevice near the top of the cave wall. His colors might have given him away, but the crack was mossy and green, not the ordinary pale pink of Crystalspine rock.

“Jarith, I know you’re there.” The voice was light, a bit amused, and Jarith felt his crest swelling in annoyance. How, curse it? “Normally I’d keep going and leave you to your secrecy, but I need your help.”

Jarith peered out of the crevice, something he hadn’t dared to do since first being addressed, fearing that the movement would draw an eye. A large head was almost level with him, antlers nearly scraping the ceiling: it was Acrux.

“Did your spirits tell me where to find me?” Jarith said. His voice was completely even, but his crest flared in derision. He wasn’t completely sure whether he believed in Acrux’s supposed psychic powers, but he leaned towards _no_.

“Yours did, yes.” There was a smile in the Imperial’s voice, and Jarith had a hunch that his own antics amused Acrux. Most things did.

“What do you want?” Again, Jarith’s voice revealed nothing of what he felt. If he hadn’t been a Fae, though, it would have been sharp.

“One of my projects failed rather … destructively.” Acrux sounded appropriately chagrined at the failure of his mechanical skill. “The blueprints burned. But I saw you drawing it and taking notes earlier, when you thought I hadn’t notice you – do you still have them? It would really help.”

Jarith fluttered his wings and crept out of the crevice. “I suppose I can look.”

His thoughts of exaltation or migration would have to wait.


	45. Chapter 45

Wanderer shot into Lorette’s room and disappeared behind one of her rocks before she could ask what he was doing. Sovari followed on the Coatl’s fluffy tail, fluttering to the ceiling and clinging in the shadows. Once she looked away, Lorette had trouble finding the exact spot where the Nocturne hung again.

“What’s going on?” Lorette asked.

Wanderer poked his head out from behind the rock. “Delemont is out for blood. Our blood.”

“Our blood,” echoed Sovari.

“Why?” Lorette said. With difficulty, she’d restrained herself from saying _What did you do?_  She wanted to give her clan-mates the benefit of the doubt, even if she knew their proclivities quite well – Wanderer’s proclivities, anyway. Sovari would follow any example someone set for her.

Wanderer’s tail twitched between the rocks. He was going to have to clear out of there before nightfall, or she’d have nowhere to perch. “Who knows? He’s a nasty dragon.”

“Mean,” Sovari added.

“Wanderer!” The roar came from just outside Lorette’s room, and the Coatl flinched and pulled himself in behind the rock.

“Please don’t out us,” Wanderer hissed.

“Please,” Sovari repeated.

Then they had to be silent, because Delemont was stepping into Lorette’s room, a fiercer-than-usual scowl on his narrow muzzle. “Where in _the Arcanist’s_  name did that _Shade-cursed_  featherbrain go?”

“Um,” Lorette said. She was drawing a complete blank: she didn’t want to lie, but Delemont’s claws were clenching and unclenching as if he intended to tear flesh, and Wanderer had said please … Though there was a chance that he deserved whatever punishment Delemont planned to dish out … But there was also a chance that he didn’t. Lorette just didn’t know.

Delemont snorted. “Let me know when you can form a complete sentence. I’ve got better things to do than dally here.”

And he dashed out of the room. Well, then the decision was made, if not by Lorette. On the other side of the cave, she heard Wanderer let out a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Lorette,” he said, after waiting a moment to make sure that Delemont was really gone. “Got to love these heated rocks of yours.”

“Thanks,” said Sovari.

That was why he’d come to her room, Lorette realized: to escape the Mirror’s heat vision by blending in with the glow of the warming device Acrux had made for her perches. It had nothing to do with her, and she wasn’t sure if she cared. If it had, would she really want to be Wanderer’s confidante? Lightweaver only knew he got up to enough trouble.

Before Lorette could decide about that, either, the two hidden dragons were slipping out of the room. At least, Wanderer was slipping out of the room; Lorette only caught a brief glimpse of Sovari’s yellow scales on his other side. The Nocturne was good at not being seen. Wanderer threw a grin back over his shoulder at Lorette, and she had the distinct feeling that he had, in fact, deserved whatever Delemont had been about to do to him. Or some punishment, at least; Delemont could be rather extreme.

Well, it was too late now. Better to mind her own business and let Delemont and Wanderer sort it out between them.


	46. Chapter 46

“I can’t do this anymore,” Versiaz whispered. He tossed his head. “I _can’t_. No one listens to me.”

He was alone in his room, which was dark and almost totally empty.

“Please … I can’t,” he breathed. “They _won’t_ listen. I can’t make them listen.”

His tail twitched. He folded his wings over himself, as if desperate for warmth. Their motion was only slightly impeded by the rotclaw on his back.

“I can find proof,” he said at last. “I can make them believe me.”

Slowly, he emerged from the shelter of his wings. He’d been feeling even worse than usual lately. No—his clan had been even worse than usual lately. He worked so hard. So hard. Arcanist, he was trying.

They weren’t, though. No one else cared what he knew. Even his own mother had snapped at him the last time he’d tried to warn her. Oh, some of them would listen to him, but always with pity in their eyes. They were just humoring him; they didn’t believe.

“Maybe someone else will believe me,” Versiaz said. It wasn’t as if he had any strong ties in this clan. He was no closer to his parents than any other dragons. Why stay?

Versiaz paused. He’d considered leaving before, but always eventually rejected the idea. The clan needed him. But they didn’t act like it. He was either an obnoxious idiot wasting everyone’s time – Delemont’s words – or a poor, confused hatchling. Well, he wasn’t a hatchling anymore. He could leave. Most of Clan Lukra’s offspring did; he and Bartos were the only dragons here in the same clan as their parents. He didn’t want to serve the Arcanist, though. There was too much to do; he couldn’t spend his life cloistered away in the Observatory.

Padding out of his room, Versiaz headed for the hatchery. As expected, Nesita was lounging there among the unhatched eggs.

“Hello, Versiaz,” Nesita said pleasantly. He had to hand it to her; there was no trace of exasperation or boredom in her voice. “Do you need something?”

“I’m thinking about leaving.”

“Permanently?” Nesita tilted her head. “Well, it is your choice. I know I’ll be sad to see you go, though.”

She was lying. No one cared about him.

“Still, you have to do what makes you happy.” The Tundra gave Versiaz a big, sappy smile. “Arcanist or another clan?”

“Another clan.”

“Well, you’ll be our first expatriate who actually spent any time here, so that’d be interesting.” Nesita stroked an egg absently as she spoke. “Here’s a suggestion: go check out some nearby clans, maybe some not so nearby ones. Make a little holiday of it. But don’t feel pressured to stay anywhere unless you really like it. You have time to make up your mind.”

“Thank you,” Versiaz said, though he hadn’t paid much attention to her advice. Surely when he got to his clan, his real clan, he’d just know, wouldn’t he? He’d know because they’d _listen_ to him.

“No problem,” Nesita said.”I hope you find a place that makes you happy, Versiaz.”

Nodding, Versiaz headed for the exit and flew out of the lair. He’d start by traveling north, he decided. Northeast.


	47. Chapter 47

“Well, Flameforger’s was nice,” said Geras. No one else in the room responded, which she should have expected, since she was the only Fire dragon in the clan, anyway. The majority of her clan-mates were Arcane or Light, although they were a pretty diverse group. Some adhered closely to their element’s typical characteristics, while others didn’t; Geras thought she fell in the latter group. She really wasn’t temperamental enough for anyone to guess, without looking at her eyes, that she swore by the Flamecaller. Still, she persisted in attempting to start a conversation. “You collected a good number of embers, Zura.”

The Coatl looked up at the sound of her name, but didn’t seem to have caught the rest of the sentence. Geras wondered what she’d been thinking, trying to start a conversation with the clan-member who barely spoke Common. She smiled at Zura instead, giving her an encouraging gesture.

“The battling team didn’t do too bad a job either,” she continued, her voice remaining light and conversational, though inwardly she was berating herself for forging on with such a pathetic topic. Perhaps someone would take pity on her and take the bait.

“At least the worst of the heat should turn now,” Bartos said, peering at Geras over his spectacles. Even in his summer coat, he didn’t like the warm weather.

“Yes, that’ll be nice,” Xylia said. Geras almost jumped; she’d thought the Wildclaw was sleeping, she’d been so still. “The heat gives me some trouble as well, with my materials.”

Xylia, Geras knew, painted in blood. Animal blood, of course.

“Heat’s trouble,” added Sovari.

“Mmm,” Geras said. She’d managed to initiate a conversation that she could contribute nothing to, being unbothered by the heat herself. She didn’t have Bartos’ thick coat, Sovari’s Ice alignment, or Xylia’s interests. In fact, as a Fire dragon, she rather liked hot weather; it made her feel more alive.


	48. Chapter 48

“Acrux,” Lorette said.

“Mmm,” mumbled the Imperial. Lorette glanced around to see that he’d crawled back under a large piece of machinery, her presence unable to distract him for long. She’d come to his room looking for a scroll she’d lent him on the care and keeping of mechanical familiars, since Sovari was asking for it, but she’d been distracted. The hazards of being a Spiral.

“What’s this button for?”

“Which button?” Acrux asked without removing his head from the underside of his project.

“The one labeled ‘emergency stop.’ It doesn’t seem to be connected to anything.”

Lorette heard a thud and looked over to see a rather ruffled Acrux extricating himself from his work. It seemed like he’d hit his head trying to exit too fast.

“Don’t touch that,” Acrux said, as worried and urgent as Lorette had ever seen him. She recoiled, almost running into a section of the larger dragon’s tail.

“What is it?” she asked again.

“It’s part of a very sensitive project I’m working on with Bartos.” Acrux glanced around, as if afraid of being overheard. It was certainly shadowy enough in his room to conceal any number of nosy dragons, but didn’t Acrux claim to be psychically aware of others’ presences? Well, Lorette wasn’t going to question it. Lightweaver only knew that there were members of the clan who would probably press a forbidden, very dangerous button just for laughs.

“Can you tell me about it?” Lorette asked, curious.

“Not much.” Acrux gave an apologetic smile – or was it a grimace? It was too dark for Lorette to tell. “It’s quantum. Bartos understands more of the ins and outs than I do. I’m just putting it together.”

“Quantum,” Lorette repeated. She had no idea what that meant. “Is that why the button isn’t actually connected to anything?”

Acrux nodded. “It’s complicated.”

“I like complicated.”

“You should ask Bartos about it, then. Most of my insights come from … non-traditional sources. He can lend you books about it.”

“Speaking of lending,” Lorette said, “could I have that scroll about mechanical familiars back? Sovari needs it. Her Creeper is acting up.”

“She should bring it to me,” Acrux said. “It’s probably faulty wiring; they’re known for those. Sloppy work. But yeah, the scroll’s over on my workbench. Go ahead and grab it, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch anything else.”

“Thanks,” Lorette said, retreating to the indicated location. She had to writhe and twist through the air to make sure she didn’t collide with any of Acrux’s projects on the way; several of them loomed like standing stones in fog, unidentifiable and eldritch. _Stop that_ , she ordered herself. _They’re just machines_. But she had to wonder why Acrux kept his cave so dark. It must have been difficult for him to see what he was working on.


	49. Chapter 49

Nesita almost didn’t notice the Guardian in the hatchery’s doorway. It wasn’t until he moved, light sparkling off his dark scales, that she spotted him.

“Ah, Berseth,” she said. “You almost startled me.”

The Guardian smiled apologetically, his wings clutched tightly to his body to make him look as small and unthreatening as possible. Nesita returned his smile. She was used to being surrounded by dragons much larger than herself, so she didn’t mind that despite his efforts, Berseth loomed over her. She ought to have smelled him, though, or spotted the white hood and circuit light against his scales.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

Berseth shook his head and lowered himself to lay beside a nest – the nest, Nesita recalled, that contained his own offspring. Zarya hadn’t come to check on the eggs, but of course she wouldn’t; her interest ended as soon as they were in the nest. Apparently Berseth’s lasted a bit longer.

“They’re doing well,” Nesita said. “They should hatch soon, and I’m sure the hatchlings will be healthy and strong.”

Berseth smiled at her as he ran a fond claw over one of the eggs.

“Nesita!” Delemont shouted as he ran into the room, blood streaming from his flank. Berseth clambered to his feet, eyes wide as he watched the Mirror, and Nesita put a comforting paw on his knee – which was about as high as she could reach.

“Wounded hunting?” she asked Delemont.

“Of course,” he snapped. Spotting Berseth, he added, “When you’ve got a muscle torn open from securing us food, then you can bristle at me. Till then, buzz off.”

Berseth didn’t leave, but he settled back down behind the nest. He still kept his eyes on Delemont, Nesita noticed.

“You really shouldn’t come running and shouting into the hatchery,” she told the Mirror as she readied her healing spell. “You’ll disturb the eggs.”

Delemont snorted.

“You’ll disturb _me_ , then,” she said, nudging his cheek with her nose. He made an offended spluttering noise and turned his head away. Nesita made no effort to hide her smile. He was an awfully prickly dragon; his spines suited him.


	50. Chapter 50

“I’m glad that we had the opportunity to make up like this,” Zarya said, delicately wiping a spot of blood from her lips. She smiled toothily.

Acrux grunted in response. He had hardly looked up from his food the entire time, and Lorette was starting to fear that her attempt to get the two of them on slightly friendlier terms through shared food was going to fail. She’d assumed that if anyone gave her trouble, it would be Zarya, with her sharp tongue and morbid sense of humor, but the Mirror remained polite and pleasant. It was the usually mellow and kind Acrux who’d rejected the olive branch.

“Zarya, I think you might owe Acrux a bit of an apology,” Lorette said. The meat was almost gone and she was growing desperate to see their relations thaw before they left.

“Whatever for?” Zarya said with haughty surprise.

“You know exactly what for,” Acrux said, though he seemed to be talking as much to his meal as to his companions. “Your – ”

“Let’s not get into the argument again,” Lorette interrupted hurriedly, knowing that a discussion of their exact disagreement would hardly make them feel better about each other.

“Perhaps you ought to take the matter up with dear Xylia,” Zarya suggested. “Her activities often parallel mine.”

“Xylia deals in _blood_ , not _bodies_.” Acrux glowered at the Mirror, who only shrugged. “She commits no sacrilege.”

“You haven’t _let_  me commit any sacrilege,” Zarya retorted, her tone turned sharp for the first time during the meal. “Why don’t you just leave me be and abhor me after the fact? I have work to do!”

Acrux raised his head, suddenly reminding Lorette that the Imperial was almost six times Zarya’s size and over seven hers.

“Do your work on others,” he growled. “Let the Lightweaver’s children lie.”

Zarya’s lips drew back from her teeth in a snarl. “You don’t control me.”

Acrux shrugged, suddenly more relaxed than he’d been over the entire encounter. “I warn you for your sake, not mine, Zarya. We will not allow the desecration of our dead.”

Zarya sniffed. “So your loyalty is to race over clan. Lorette, I hope you remember that.”

“Ah,” Lorette squeaked. She’d almost forgotten to breathe from the tension in the air. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Um, the weather’s been awfully nice lately.”

Zarya turned with a hiss of disdain. “I have work to do. Don’t wait up.”

And with that, she ran out of the room.


	51. Chapter 51

“Let’s kill and loot it,” Delemont said.

“Why is that your first response to everything?” Xylia said, frustrated.

“Why did I bring you along on this hunt?” Delemont retorted. “That shrill voice of yours is grating on my nerves, and you’re terrible at this.” He turned and ostensibly addressed the empty room. “Hello, does anyone know where I can find a real Wildclaw? One who can fight?”

Berseth could tell from the glint in Delemont’s eye that he knew very well he was hitting Xylia in a vulnerable spot. She hated any suggestion that Wildclaws were inherently violent or savage. Though her convictions probably would have been more convincing if she didn’t respond by snarling wordlessly at Delemont. Well, Berseth couldn’t blame her.

He stepped between the two smaller dragons and waved to bring their attention back to the matter at hand. They stood in a domed room of delicate grey stone, some sort of ancient ruin, and in the center of the room hovered a glowing pink eyeball. They needed to decide what, if anything, to do about it.

“I … am actually leaning increasingly towards the ‘destroy it’ option,” Xylia said hesitantly. “I don’t like the way it’s looking at me.”

Delemont slapped her thigh lightly; his personality turned the gesture into an insult instead of a sign of companionship. “There might be hope for you yet, Sparkly.”

Xylia let out a ragged, exasperated breath, but held her tongue. Berseth placed a claw on her shoulder, smiling at her. He didn’t think she had to be a good hunter to be a good clan member. They all had their own strengths and weaknesses. If Delemont and Xylia were to swap hobbies, Delemont would be just as bad at painting as Xylia was at hunting.

“Let’s just go,” Xylia said, turning away. “Come on, Berseth. Delemont can fend for himself, if he’s so great.”

Berseth looked at Delemont, uncertain. The Mirror might be prickly, but he still didn’t want to leave a clan-mate alone out here at the Focal Point. 

“Go on, run along,” Delemont growled. “Like I need either of you.”

Shrugging, Berseth followed Xylia out of the room.


	52. Chapter 52

“Ahem. May I have your. Attention please.”

There was something not-quite-right about the Spiral’s speech, pauses in the wrong places, a hitch in the rhythm of the words. He was one of the newer additions to the clan, and Sovari didn’t know him very well. But she did see Wanderer smile a bit unpleasantly, as if some devious new trick had just occurred to him.

“What do you need?” the Coatl said, sounding as friendly and open-hearted as anyone.

“What do you need?” Sovari echoed, quietly. The Spiral started and turned to look at her with big Wind-green eyes. So he hadn’t noticed her standing behind Wanderer.

“I’ve. Finished a. Poem. I was looking. For an audience.”

Did he recite the same way he spoke? That could be interesting, but Sovari said nothing, just watched Wanderer.

“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Wanderer sat down, claiming a large purple cushion that probably wasn’t his to begin with.

“Sure,” Sovari said, sitting beside him. There wasn’t a cushion for her, but she folded her forelegs the same way Wanderer did, though the position looked odd on her, since she didn’t have any of the fluff he did.

The Spiral – his name was Hallowiz, Sovari recalled; she did try to take careful note of who was coming and going in the clan – wrapped himself around a convenient pillar and cleared his throat.

“Hem. A mantis on. Life support. Kinder than. Polite …”


	53. Chapter 53

“In the words of the immortal Tom Hanks, we’re _toys_.” Frip sure did spend a lot of time alone in her room, talking to herself. But she seemed to enjoy it; there was a wide and rather toothy smile on her face. “I should really get out more.”

She turned, mantling her wings. “From that first line you’re probably expecting me to be all cut up over it, all angsty and existential, right? Eh, boring. We’ve done that a thousand times. Just look at Mirra–OK, I won’t name-drop.”

Bowing her head, she smirked. “Don’t get your tenses messed up, now. You know that’s _the worst_.”

“Anyway, I’m not here to whine about how nothing is real and my actions are meaningless, I have no free will, blah blah blah. It’s not like I can do anything about it. I mean, I would say you’re not that cruel, but that just comes out like bragging when you’re putting the words in my mouth, right?”

Frip tilted her head. “Do you want me to do the foil thing? Seems kind of pointless to me. But then that very disagreement is manufactured to make us foils. How meta are you going to go with this, boss? All you’re going to do is drive yourself mad.”

Laying down, the dragon yawned. “You would be a heart player. You’ve put pieces of yourself into so many of us. But I digress. We digress. I’m looking forward to this game. I know they’ll probably hate me, because they can’t understand. They won’t _be allowed_  to understand, unless some of the players are up for this whole existential thing. We wouldn’t recommend it, honestly. It’s _flipping hard_. I mean let’s talk about it; this has been done dozens of times. Got to put some proper thought in if we don’t want me to be a piece of second-rate comic relief. Not to say anything against Deadpool, of course. Not exactly our type, but you have to admire the man’s creativity.”

Frip’s eyes sparkled. “That cursed autocorrect. Anyway, I’m not going to whine about having to watch people die. I’ll just enjoy the show. Honestly? I’m going to have fun making it as entertaining as possible.”


	54. Chapter 54

“Are you looking for some trouble to get into, little one?”

Kelsus looked up at the Ridgeback looming over him. He couldn’t see the larger dragon’s eyes behind those green-tinted goggles – not as if that would have helped him understand anyway.

“Maybe. I guess it depends on the kind of trouble.” Kelsus tilted his head. “You’re new, aren’t you?”

Letting out an odd cackling sound – maybe a laugh – the Ridgeback stepped back and spread his wings. The bones tied to them clinked together quietly. “I am indeed, my small friend. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Iburel, purveyor of potions, mixer of medicine, alchemizer of elixirs.”

The Fae thought about that introduction for a moment. “Shouldn’t it be ‘alchemist,’ not ‘alchemizer’?”

“We have a scholar amongst our ranks!” Iburel spread his talons. “How may I help you, my magnificent miniature mind?”

Kelsus’ fins drooped in boredom. “I’m just looking for something to do.”

That’s why he’d come to Talva’s room; the Snapper was usually good for a riddle or two. But she wasn’t here. That was normal, but Kelsus hadn’t expected to run into the clan’s newest member.

“Well, if you have no other potential pastimes on your plate, I could certainly offer you a taste of my latest tincture.” As he spoke, Iburel deftly plucked several herbs from Talva’s garden.

“What does your potion do?”

“Wouldn’t it be an adventure to ascertain that answer?” The Ridgeback’s talons clicked together. “It should be almost finished. Are you interested?”

Kelsus’ fins twitched in a Fae shrug, and he fluttered up to Iburel’s shoulder. “I don’t have anything better to do.”


	55. Chapter 55

“What _is_  that?” Cypress stared in fascination at the tangle of canvas and wood that occupied the center of the room. Being new to the clan himself, he’d thought he might visit some of his neighbors. He thought this room belonged to a Nocturne, but he wasn’t sure which one.

“It’s a flying machine.” The voice came from somewhere in the middle of the mess, which, Cypress noted with fascination and some alarm, was twitching slightly. “Or it will be. When I get it together. Which will be much easier once I get this pulley – there! Got it.”

“A … flying machine?” Cypress asked, wondering if he’d misheard the other dragon.

“Yep!”

“Like a hot air balloon?”

A white snout poked up from the middle of the construction. So it was Weythran, then; Cypress might be new, but he was certain that Frip was dark in coloration. Goggles turned towards the Skydancer and a black claw waved at him.

“Sort of, yes. But hot air balloons work through the exploitation of buoyant gases. This is going to be a heavier-than-air flying machine. It should be much more maneuverable than a hot air balloon – far easier to control.”

Cypress picked his way around the edge of the room to a perch where he could get a good look at Weythran.

“What?”

“This is going to be a heavier-than-air flying machine –”

“Yes, I got that part.” Cypress peered down at the other dragon. “But aren’t dragons _already_ sort of heavier-than-air flying machines?”

Weythran’s snout twitched, and it took him a moment to answer. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You … hadn’t thought of that.” Cypress tried not to laugh.

“No. Oh, dear, I suppose you’re right.” For a moment Weythran stared down at his project as if reconsidering the entire thing. Then he visibly perked up. “But, I mean, a separate _machine_  would allow you to fly without your wings getting tired. Or if your wings were injured.”

“I suppose you have a point there,” Cypress agreed. Wasn’t that what all those steampunk wing braces were for? He’d have to investigate further.


	56. Chapter 56

Frip tilted her head to examine the dark-scaled Imperial and grinned, the expression a bit unsettling. “Yes, I think you’re just what we need.”

“I know I am,” the Imperial said, completely unperturbed by Frip’s manner.

“I know you are.”

“I know you know –”

“Oh, Icewarden, we’re never going to get anywhere like that.” Frip rubbed her forehead with a claw. “You didn’t tell me she was _stupid_.”

“I’m not stupid,” the Imperial said, still sounding calm rather than offended. Actually, her tone was a bit amused as she continued: “You don’t find it entertaining for two seers to mirror each other?”

“It’s overdone.” Frip propped her head up on her chin. “So you’re Telyn. I hope you drive Acrux mad, in a … more constructive way than I did.”

“We will have many powerful children,” Telyn predicted.

“Mm,” Frip said, more doubtfully.

“I believe you understand my gift,” Telyn said coolly.

“Oh, it’s not that I disbelieve you. I’m sure that’s what the future has in store for you now. But fate can be fickle in ways that you, for all your talents, cannot understand.”

Telyn looked down at the Nocturne, clearly a bit miffed. “I can see the spool of time unending, thick with blood and magic, chaotic and –”

“Varied?”

Telyn blinked. “Yes. That is what I was going to say.”

Frip sighed. “Sorry, that was a bit gimmicky. To return: You may be able to see time’s path, but I can watch it being navigated. You see what is going to happen, and I see what could happen, what might happen, the wavering decision, the uncertainty of half-made plans.”

“The future does change sometimes,” Telyn admitted, rubbing her snout. “Until recently, I saw Acrux greeting me.”

“Precisely.” Frip grinned again. “Nothing’s happened till it’s happened, dear heart. And even then, it’s so easily … rewritten.”

“Well, I’m glad we understand each other.” Telyn turned away. “Now I will go find my mate.”

“I know,” Frip muttered, as the Imperial left.


	57. Chapter 57

“What do you think?” Zarya said.

Bartos glanced up. “I think many things. Do you have a specific topic in mind?”

“The sparkle-scale over there. The new one.” The mirror jerked her head towards the blue imperial lounging on the other side of the cave.

“I have yet to form an opinion.” Bartos turned back to his book. “And, frankly, I have yet to see why I should. We’ve had many new arrivals in the past months. Unless he possesses some interesting store of knowledge, I do not intend to waste my time on him.”

Zarya chuckled, a deep, dark sound. “Ought to have expected that. But I think I’ll toss him a line. He might have some interesting store of knowledge for _me_.”

Bartos sighed, but he didn’t grace Zarya with his gaze again. “Do you really think this” – he tried for a moment to remember the imperial’s name, then gave up; like so much unimportant information, it had gone in one ear and out the other – “this imperial will help you find one of his dead kin?”

Shrugging, Zarya grinned. “It’s worth a try, no? He’s Plague, so he might be a bit more open-minded about these things.”

“You and I both know that doesn’t mean a thing.” Bartos turned a page. “Isn’t it enough that Acrux and Telyn already despise you for this? Do you need to declare yourself a vulture to the new arrival, too?”

Another shrug. “Why not? It can’t hurt.”

Bartos looked over the top of the book at her, bone-clad and bloody. She was right, he supposed. All she could harm was the newcomer’s good opinion of her, and he doubted she cared a whit for that. “Well? Go speak to him, then, and stop interrupting me.”

“I’ll let you know if I ever get my claws on some of those big bones,” Zarya said, sauntering off with a wink. Bartos shook his head and returned to reading. That mirror … It wasn’t that he particularly objected to her tastes. He was plenty curious about the decomposition of dead imperials too. But did she have to flaunt her macabre tendencies so?

Zarya approached the imperial, who seemed to be sunning himself in a shaft of light reflected into the cave from above. Acrux had probably set that up, or Nesita. One of those clever-claws who would scarcely give Zarya the time of day.

Well, that wasn’t fair. Nesita had always been perfectly pleasant to her – and besides, you didn’t do what Zarya did and expect to be everybody’s favorite dinner guest.

The imperial’s eyes were closed, but he opened them and raised his head as Zarya got close. Maybe he’d heard her claws clicking on the pale pink stone. Examining him more closely, Zarya clicked her tongue admiringly. He was quite a specimen, easily five times her size, his great crystalline body creating a kaleidoscope of reflected light on the floor and walls around him. Looking at Zarya, he stretched a wing, briefly turning the entire area luminescent blue – _he’s like a stained glass window_  – and yawned.

“Riot of Rot was several months ago, I believe,” he said, nodding at Zarya’s apparel.

“Oh? I hadn’t realized.”

The imperial smiled slightly, rather smugly, at Zarya’s sarcasm. He was dripping with jewelry and had at least three or four scarves around his neck, all woven together, most of them sparkling.

“Do you need something?” He paused and then smiled again, a rather cruel note in the expression. “Fashion advice, perhaps? Though I must admit I’d struggle to find anything that could make your coloring stand out.”

For a moment Zarya just stared at him; then she laughed aloud. His ears went back at that – clearly it wasn’t the reaction he’d wanted. He actually thought she cared about her appearance! What a riot.

“I’m looking for imperial bones, actually.” Zarya ran a claw gently down the larger dragon’s forearm, lovingly tracing the path of his skeleton. “I don’t suppose you might know where to find any? Besides the ones inside your skin? Though I wouldn’t say no to those if you offered.”

The imperial shifted, moving the limb away from Zarya, and narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid that is … quite outside of my area of expertise.”

“Pity.” Zarya flicked her tongue out at the imperial; disappointingly, he didn’t flinch. “Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’m not hard to find – just follow the smell of rot.”

“Charming,” the imperial said, turning away.


	58. Chapter 58

“Nesita?”

Nesita didn’t recognize the voice, which was odd, because her auditory memory was usually pretty good. She turned.

“Berseth?”

She couldn’t think if she’d ever actually heard him speak before.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

“What?” Nesita sat down rather suddenly and heavily. True, Berseth had never been particularly involved in the clan; but then, he had never seemed particularly involved in anything.

“Allow me to explain.” The nocturne Frip slipped around the corner and sat between Nesita and Berseth. Berseth looked at her with an expression Nesita couldn’t quite read – wariness?

“There are big changes coming to our quiet little clan,” Frip said. “Several dragons will find that the new arrangements no longer suit them, and shall leave. Berseth is one of those.”

“What changes?” Nesita asked. “What new arrangements? How do you know about this and I don’t? Berseth, if you’re leaving on her word that something bad is going to happen – ”

“It’s not _bad_ ,” Frip interrupted, sounding impatient. “It’s just _different_.”

Berseth just spread his fore-talons in a calming gesture. Then he pointed to Frip. Apparently he had said as much as he meant to and intended to leave the rest of the explanation to the nocturne. Nesita turned to her, a bit disgruntled.

“I ask again: How do you know?”

“Isn’t it enough that I know?” Frip tilted her head. “Telyn would tell you the same. Change is coming. That’s all I can give you at the moment, but you won’t have to wait long to find out the rest.”

“But, Berseth, why are you leaving now?” Nesita looked up at the guardian, who had always seemed so reliable, if stoic. She had thought he was happy here. “Whatever Frip saw may not even happen.”

“It will happen, barring unseen catastrophe,” Frip murmured. Her next sentence came in a clearer, more businesslike tone. “Berseth is leaving now because another clan has offered him a place amongst them. The others who will depart have not received such an offer … yet. We’re working on it.”

“Is this true?” Nesita said, turning to Berseth. The guardian nodded. Nesita looked back at Frip. “Who else is leaving?”

“I can’t tell you yet,” Frip said. “They don’t know themselves yet.”

“When and _how_  did this offer from another clan arrive?”

“Through me.” Frip sighed and flicked a wing. “I can’t tell you much, Nesita. That would ruin the surprise. What I can tell you is that everything is going according to plan, and it’s going to be all right. Probably. Actually, there’s still a slight chance of things going rather badly for you personally … Ah, pretend I didn’t say that.”

Nesita gave Frip a surprised look. “And do you have any intention of telling me _how_  I’m supposed to deal with these upcoming travails?”

“Oh, never.” Frip’s eyes widened innocently. “I would never dream of telling another how to live their life.”

And she grinned, rather unsettling. “And I’m sure it’ll come to you. Now, say your goodbyes. Berseth is leaving.”


	59. Chapter 59

Arven realized three steps in that he had the wrong room. This chamber was small, the crystal walls polished to a dazzling shine – completely unlike Arven’s own cave, which he barely spent any time in.

For a moment he thought his mistake had gone unnoticed, that he was alone. But then some of the scintillating crystal moved and revealed itself as a fae, small and sparkling with marks like runes on her wings.

“How … disappointing,” she said, her tone fae-flat.

“I apologize for disturbing you,” Arven said, still marveling a bit at the beauty of this room. There were books and scrolls tucked into niches all around him, and an east-facing window covered by a gossamer curtain.

“Speak quietly,” the fae ordered. “The echoes I sought may not yet have completely dissipated. If you stay still and silent, I may be able to recapture them.”

Arven nodded. He didn’t know what she was talking about, but he had nothing interesting to say anyway. He did know this fae, though – they’d had a nest together, hadn’t they? Yes, what was her name? Something long. Halla-something?

There was a long moment of silence, or maybe it wasn’t silence. Some sound danced just at the edge of Arven’s hearing. Maybe it was just his ears ringing …

“Ah.” The fae’s wings fluttered. “Success.”

She didn’t sound particularly happy about it, but she was a fae, so who knew?

“Thank you for remaining quiet,” she said. A moment of silence, and this silence didn’t sing like the earlier one. “Do you need something?”

“Oh. No, I, I thought I was going somewhere else.” Arven tilted his head to peer at the fae. “What were you doing?”

“Capturing a speech given in a long-forgotten tongue many centuries ago.” The fae raised a claw, which glowed with Wind magic. “It is a complicated and delicate process, but it is also the only way to confirm the pronunciation of languages that have otherwise vanished from our breaths.”

“That sounds interesting,” Arven said. “Could you teach me … ?”

Even before she spoke, he could read a refusal in the way her fins twitched and tail lashed. “I have not the time nor the desire to tutor you.”

Arven nodded and began to turn away.

“Wait.” There was no urgency in the little dragon’s voice, no passion. “I possess several scrolls for beginners in acoustic magic. You may find them interesting. I have long since learned everything they contain, so you may take them if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Arven said, picking up the scrolls she indicated. “I won’t keep you, then.”

“Thank you.” The fae turned away, towards the window, and Arven was back in the hall before he realized that he still hadn’t asked her name.


	60. Chapter 60

“Bartos, what exactly are we doing here?”

“There are quite a few interesting magical phenomena in the Southern Icefield.” The snow crunched under Bartos’ feet, the sound muffled by his thick fur. Geras’ footfalls were more distinct, and accompanied by the occasional sizzle as the fire in her blood melted the snow. “I wish to investigate several of them, and – what’s that smell?”

Geras raised her head and sniffed the air, but detected nothing besides the continuing cold. She didn’t have a tundra’s nose, though – and Bartos was lower to the ground, too. Glancing down, she saw that he was puffing up, his fur standing up. As far as making him look bigger, it certainly worked; if only it didn’t make him look spherical as well.

“It smells like magic, and salt, and death,” the tundra reported.

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Bartos agreed, absently, his nose pressed to the snow and clearly following some sort of trail. Geras suppressed a sigh. Of course they were going to check it out. She followed her clan-mate, tail lashing uneasily behind her.

They moved slowly, and Bartos was still sniffing the ground when Geras saw it.

“Bartos, look.”

The tundra lifted his head, followed Geras’ gaze, and shrugged. Even with his spectacles, his eyes weren’t good enough to pick out the details. “What is it?”

“A big chunk of ice. And I think there’s something inside it.”

“Intriguing.” Bartos carefully stepped over to the spire of bluish ice, examining it closely. Geras followed, tilting her head to try and see through the watery gloom of the icicle’s body. There certainly seemed to be something in there, but she couldn’t tell … “Ah, it’s melting.”

Geras took a step back, realizing that it was probably her fault the unspeakably ancient piece of ice was now abandoning solid form. This was why you didn’t bring a Fire dragon to the Southern Icefield. But it was too late; water was running down the sides of the icicle, running off into the snow, and something was beginning to emerge – a clump of waterlogged fur, a horn, an expanse of blue membrane.

“It’s a tundra,” Geras said.

Bartos sniffed at what looked like nothing more than a lump of soggy fluff. “Odd, that melted improbably quickly … I think she’s dead.”

“Oh.” Geras stepped forward, lowering her head to examine the tundra. Now she could catch a whiff of salt and death, though she wasn’t as sensitive to magic as Bartos. Gingerly, Geras slid a talon under one soaked wing, which was already starting to ice over again in the cold, and lifted it.

Staring white eyes, blank as quartz, and a beard frosted with snow. Geras bowed her head. The dragon did, indeed, appear to be dead.

And then the wing in Geras’ talons twitched. The guardian looked up, startled, and saw the frozen tundra’s mouth move. “Bartos, she’s alive!”

“I suppose that puts an end to our expedition, then,” Bartos said, sighing, as Geras picked up the strange little dragon in her talons. He opened his wings. “I never can get anything done, can I?”

Geras had known Bartos long enough not to be offended by his indifference. “Come on, let’s get her someplace warm.”


	61. Chapter 61

“I haven’t heard from Acrux in some time,” Telyn said.

Frip tilted her head, smirking a bit. “So you came to me? You’re the seer, Telly.”

The imperial’s nose wrinkled. She hated being called Telly, which was why Frip did it. That, and it fit well with her general annoying nickname policy.

“My sight is clouded,” Telyn replied. “I can see … a place. I see where they will end up, our little band of brave explorers. But I can’t tell where they are now. When will they arrive? I should be able to see that.”

“I don’t know.” Frip folded her talons in front of her, suddenly solemn. “If you see them arriving, you’ve already surpassed me.”

“The place is … unfinished. It shifts. There are ridges, and a river, and trees. But they do not always seem to be the same river, ridges, and trees.”

“It’s not real yet,” Frip said. She sounded tired. “We don’t know if we have enough left in us to make it real.”

Telyn lifted her head and looked at Frip for a long moment. “You know, I am still somewhat unclear on the precise nature of your insight.”

“And you understand your own so well?” Frip smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “They could always just come back, you know. How long do you think we could get on with Aridatha pulling one way and Nesita the other? Longer than anyone would care, I suppose.”

Telyn gave Frip a sidelong look. “I yet seek a home for my daughter.”

“Another one. I know. We have plans for her, if we ever get around to them.”

“And if you don’t?”

Frip shrugged. “Do you know where Cypress is?”

“Did he go somewhere? When?”

“I don’t wish to alarm you, but we are not well.” Frip closed her eyes. “It’s dark tonight.”

“Frip, it’s high noon.”

Inexplicably, Frip cracked a smile at that. Telyn took a step back, disconcerted. It was a rather amusing image, given the disparity in their sizes.

“You do not seem well,” Telyn said. “And the future wavers with you. Even in the enigmatic terms of prophecy, you speak in riddles.”

Frip looked up, something painful in her eyes. “I’m not allowed to … I have to smile and tell you it doesn’t matter. But sometimes knowing it doesn’t matter … It doesn’t do anything to me, actually. That would be ascribing me considerably more depth than I possess. And it’s so tiring, the maudlin misery. That’s the worst part, I think. It’s not even interesting.”

“Frip? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Frip shook her head. “We have to bring Acrux back. We have to build the new lair and bring in the new blood and find a printer … You could say that I’m the only one who does any work around here.”

Telyn looked skeptical. “What is it, exactly, that you _do_?”

“Talking to you was never going to help.” Frip turned away. “Let’s conclude this. It wears on us. Acrux will find a new lair, or he won’t.”

“When?” Telyn said.

“I don’t know.”


	62. Chapter 62

“Oh dear.”

Luna looked up, surprised by the worry in the other dragon’s tone. The imperial towered over her, his scales as shining azure as her own, though rather lighter. He was three times her size and decked in great splendor – scarves, jewelry, even a glamour dancing along the edge of his wings.

“Yes?” Luna said.

The imperial tilted his head and grimaced.“That’s certainly a … brave … fashion choice, that sweater and those … antennae …”

Luna’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t need her lengthy diplomatic training to know that the larger dragon was not trying to compliment her.

“Who are you again?” She gave him an ostentatiously fake smile.

“My name is Cobalt.”

“Thank you, Cobalt,” Luna said sweetly. “I know we can’t all reach your lofty heights of loveliness, but I try, oh do I _try_.”

The imperial grinned and breathed a quiet laugh. On Luna’s back, her Charge Cavern stirred and said, “That is a really big dragon.”

“Yes, he is,” Luna replied, in Harpy. Cobalt clearly didn’t understand the Beastclan language, and his expression turned unfriendly. Well, unfriendlier; he hadn’t exactly been welcoming to begin with. Luna’s first instinct was to brush him off, but she’d rather get along with her clan-mates. She smiled, a bit more genuinely, and said, “Cavern was just admiring your size. I don’t think he’s ever seen such a large dragon before.”

Cobalt leaned down and examined Cavern. Luna could feel the harpy go stiff on her back; Cobalt’s head was bigger than he was. “What a fetching creature. I don’t suppose you could be persuaded … ?”

“He’s my Charge,” Luna said, pushing down a sudden rush of anxiety. “And he wouldn’t match your color scheme anyway.”

“Ah. True.” Cobalt lifted his head, his interest in Cavern abated. Luna couldn’t help but wonder: if he had really wanted to take her Charge away from her, would she have been able to stop him? She was no weakling, but neither was she a particularly great warrior, and he was a _very_ large dragon. Of course, the clan wouldn’t have allowed that … Though, if Luna were honest with herself, she had to admit that the clan wasn’t exactly … organized. Who would she go to, Nesita? Maybe that Aridatha had a point.


	63. Chapter 63

“I have come to the understanding that I should tell you of my intentions.”

The voice’s lack of inflection announced its owner as a fae. Aridatha looked down.

“I’m up here.” The fae was, of course, incapable of sounding annoyed or offended. But somehow Aridatha suspected he was. She glanced up, saw green scales and pale wings. What was his name? Jarith. Aridatha had never spoken to him before. She wasn’t even sure if she’d ever seen him before.

“What are your intentions?” Aridatha said, her own tone cautious. She wasn’t sure whether to take this as a sign that at least someone thought her in charge or as a malicious waste of her time.

“I intend to leave.” The fae blinked. Aridatha would never tell anyone, but ice eyes always made a shiver run up her spine, so white and empty … Frip and Telyn were both ice dragons.

“May I ask why?” Aridatha said.

“Will knowing why alter your response to this information?” The fae’s head twisted on his long neck.

Aridatha thought about the question for a moment. “Not directly. But I wish to know anyway.”

She wasn’t sure how to phrase the truth, which was that she wanted to know why Jarith was leaving so that she could, perhaps, rectify whatever drove him away and keep the rest of the clan together. Lorette had already gone, and there seemed to be an awful lot of muttering going on, muttering that stopped abruptly when its speakers saw Aridatha.

Still, she could be glad that Jarith had come to inform her rather than Nesita.

“I feel I have observed this clan to the point where it no longer yields anything new,” Jarith said. “It is changing, and the change is not one that interests me. I have lived here for a long time. I wish to experience something else.”

“Our new lair – ” Aridatha began.

“Something further than the Starwood Strand. I do not know what it is like to serve a deity.”

“You’re going to the Observatory?” Aridatha said. “You know you can’t come back, right?”

“I am aware.” Jarith’s frills twitched; Aridatha didn’t know enough about fae body language to interpret the motion. “But no, not yet. I believe there is more for me to learn amongst mortals. I was considering … but I’ve found another clan willing to take me in.”

“Where?”

“Rotrock Rim.”

“Plague territory?”

“Yes.” Jarith’s head tilted again. “I scarcely anticipate any need for us to retain contact, but I imagine Frip would be able to give you my direction, if such a scenario were to arise.”

“I imagine so too,” Aridatha muttered. Of course Frip would come into it. “Did Frip arrange this?”

“No. I am perfectly capable of managing my own affairs.”

Aridatha couldn’t tell if she’d offended the little dragon. She supposed it didn’t matter, if he was leaving anyway. “I wish you good fortune, Jarith.”

“I doubt your wishes will have any impact.” In a flutter of wings, the fae was gone.


	64. Chapter 64

It took Aridatha a while to notice that there was a dragon standing expectantly in front of her. She looked up at the spiral, frowning. How long had he intended to stand there while she read Lioska’s letters?

“May I help you?” she asked, in a tone that indicated clearly that she would rather not. It occurred to her right as the words left her mouth that she really ought to be more polite. Just because she noticed the spiral at any clan functions didn’t mean he was unimportant – plenty of Clan Lukra’s more influential members kept to themselves. Bartos, for example. “I mean, is there something you need?”

The spiral took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Moonlight. A clear morn. Butterfly wings. The depths of the earth.”

Aridatha became aware that her mouth was open. There didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it.

“Fire on water. Water on fire. A hand, extended. Blue fur.”

An “uh” noise emerged from Aridatha. She really had to compose herself. Well, the spiral didn’t seem to make anything of her reaction. He just kept talking.

“Scales in the dawn. A feather, falling. Finally, woven baskets.”

The spiral stopped, looked at Aridatha for a moment, and then, apparently satisfied, turned to walk away.

“Wait,” Aridatha said. “What?”

He was already gone.

“I see you’ve met Hallowiz,” Frip said, and Aridatha worked very hard not to jump. Frip had a bad habit of popping up in unexpected places, in places where she almost certainly hadn’t been a few seconds before, and Aridatha refused to allow herself to be startled by it any longer.

“Hallowiz?”

“It’s a terrible name, isn’t it? That’s part of why he’s leaving.”

“Wait,” Aridatha repeated, turning to Frip. “Start from the beginning. Who was that? And why did he say those things to me? He’s leaving?”

“One of our … less interesting clan-mates.” Frip folded her talons primly before her. “He’s been around for a while, never did anything important. Never befriended anyone. He’s a poet … of sorts. What he just gave you was one of his poems.”

“Oh.” It hadn’t made any sense, but Aridatha supposed poems didn’t have to. “Was that supposed to convey that he’s leaving? It didn’t. And why? Where’s he going?”

“As I said, he was never important.” Frip shrugged. “Maybe he’s just tired of sitting around. As for where he’s going … We’re not sure yet. But don’t worry; you’ll never have to deal with him again.”

Aridatha stared at Frip. “ ‘We’? ‘We’ who? You and Hallowiz?”

Frip waved a claw vaguely. “No. Us. Look, you wouldn’t understand if I explained it. Just know that Hallowiz is … wrapped up. A short and very boring chapter in the history of our clan, and now he’s gone. Probably to our lord and savior, the Arcanist.”

It would be disloyal to point out that the Arcanist really hadn’t saved anybody, Aridatha supposed. “So that’s it? I just met Hallowiz and now he’s gone?”

“Pretty much.” Frip tilted her head thoughtfully. “We could have bypassed you entirely. Maybe think about that next time. Hmm … Moros and Wanderer, perhaps.”

“Are they leaving? I do want to know what’s going on here.”

“Moros, probably. Wanderer, no.” Frip scratched her chin. “Just keeping tabs on everyone. ‘Keeping tabs’ … what does that even mean?”

The nocturne was already wandering away, and Aridatha glared after her. Who was really in charge here, exactly?


	65. Chapter 65

“Out of all my children, I expected the one hatched in my own image to most impress me.”

Arbalest did not raise his bowed head. “I’m sorry to disappoint, Mother.”

“I’m aware.” Telyn sighed. This was not what Arbalest had hoped for when he’d received the summons to his parents’ quarters. His more forgiving father was nowhere to be seen, and he’d long since gotten enough dark looks from Telyn to know what she thought of him.

“They said it was nothing personal.” Arbalest had a sinking feeling that attempts at explanation – or excuse – would only irritate his mother further, but he had to try. “They just turned out not to have room for me.”

“You were to make yourself indispensable,” Telyn said. She sighed again and turned to a cup of tea that one of her mate’s inventions had just served up for her. “We only nested amidst all this chaos because I saw great things for you. I suppose I ought to remember better than anyone how the future can change. Best laid plans of mice and maren …”

“I will find a new clan,” Arbalest promised. “I – I’ll find a way to be useful.”

“Hm.” Telyn sipped her tea. “You would be the first of your siblings to serve a god, if that were your fate.”

Arbalest bit his lip. “That’s not necessary, Mother. I will – I can – ”

“It’s not a punishment,” Telyn said. “It’s an honor.”

“It’s an honor that I … do not desire. Or deserve.” That would be the ultimate failure, Arbalest felt: to prove so useless to earthly dragons that only a god could make something of him.

“Possibly.” Telyn stirred her tea, and Arbalest wondered if she had read his mind and seen how he felt about his fate. Probably not; that was Acrux’s gift, not Telyn’s. “Well, we shall speak of this again later. Frip is writing letters, I believe, to find you a new place. We will just have to see.”


	66. Chapter 66

“Acrux? I have something for you.”

The laughter in Frip’s voice didn’t bode well for the peaceful continuation of Acrux’s afternoon. He worked his way out from under the project he’d been working on and turned to look for Frip.

She was sitting in the doorway, pretty and pert with something small and black sitting on top of her hood. Acrux swung his own head over to the nocturne, adjusting his goggles to their most magnified setting, the one he used for tricky little screws.

“Is that a cat?”

Acrux watched the cat sway and balance, claws set in Frip’s hood, as the nocturne tilted her head inquisitively. “What are you working on?”

“I think mine is the more relevant question,” Acrux replied.

“You don’t have any idea, do you?” Frip sighed. “We’re getting lazy here. Yes, I have a cat, and I’ve brought you one as well.”

“Um,” Acrux said, as Frip held up another cat, this one even smaller than the first. He could barely make it out. “Maybe you should ask someone a bit more … proportionate.”

“Ah, but you’re reckoning without convenient magic.” Frip put the cat down and it blossomed upwards, growing until it was nearly as big as she was. It meowed, looked at Frip for a moment as if trying to figure out when she’d gotten so small, and then wandered off to look at Acrux’s workshop.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Acrux said.

“It makes perfect sense. I couldn’t carry an imperial-sized cat, after all.” Frip watched the cat, which was battling a ball-bearing back and forth under a desk. “You should probably watch it around smaller dragons, though. Cats can be kind of … pointy.”

“Pointy,” Acrux said, looking at the animal.

“Anyway, I have three more of these to deliver.” Frip pulled another cat, this one calico, out of her robes. “I think Zura would like one, don’t you?”

“I have no opinion whatsoever in the matter,” Acrux said to Frip’s back as she walked away.


	67. Chapter 67

A silver fae, trailing pink wisps of silk and magic, landed on Aridatha’s windowsill and stared at her with bright Arcane eyes.

“You’re Lightning,” he said.

“Yes, and?” Aridatha said.

The fae tilted his head, examined Aridatha from a few more angles, and then dropped off the sill and flew to the tree across the way, vanishing into its branches.

Aridatha turned away from the window and clambered up the trunk of the tree that held her room until she could peek into Nessa’s carefully-designed sap palace amongst the branches. “Nessa? Do you know who that was? Silver fae, Arcane, glamored?”

Nessa’s head poked out of one of the little chambers. She fluttered down to Aridatha. “Silver fae? That must be Barholme. We told you about him, didn’t we? He was already living here when we got here, so we let him stay. He’s supposed to be busy ensuring we show proper respect to the Arcanist.”

“Hmm.”


	68. Chapter 68

“I brought you something,” Frip said, walking into the training grounds with a bundle almost as large as she was trailing after her, apparently under its own power. It was covered by a threadbare blanket, under which Aridatha could see dark limbs moving, working in a way that did not seem fully compatible with flesh and bone. An acrid smell filled the air, burning at Aridatha’s nostrils. Nessa, who had been sitting on Lioska’s back, fluttered up to the ceiling and hung there, above the fumes, watching curiously.

“What the Shade is that?” Aridatha said.

Frip grinned. “Precisely.”

Before anyone could ask her to clarify – always a hopeless endeavor – Frip whipped the blanket off of the thing and left them no wiser about its nature. It was a pool of black sludge, bubbling and roiling, in the shape of a dragon. It was a shadow draining light from the world, billowing and creeping, with the occasional burst of bone. It was a hole in space, and it was mewling.

“Shade,” Lioska swore.

“Maybe you should put the blanket back on,” Aridatha suggested.

“Don’t be mean.” Frip patted the thing. The creature, apparently. Aridatha found that she saw it better out of the corner of her eye – looking directly at it hurt, although it wasn’t bright. “It’s just a baby.”

“A baby what?” Aridatha asked. “Where did you find it and why did you bring it here?”

“Pull yourself together, love,” Frip said, gently, to the creature. “Show them your best face.”

It contorted and bulged and twisted itself into something resembling a hatchling, white as bone where it wasn’t abyssal dark. The head was mostly white, with horns like obsidian spires. The body looked fairly solid, but the extremities were oozing muck out of which the odd claw would occasionally resolve itself. As far as it resembled a dragon at all, it seemed to be a young guardian.

“Good job,” Frip said, patting it again. Her claws remained their usual silver, unstained, but Aridatha could have sworn she heard squelching every time she made contact.

“That thing should be scoured from existence,” Lioska said. “It’s hopelessly corrupted, more Shade than dragon, just a mockery of life. And if it spreads – Aridatha, you should leave.  It’s dangerous.”

The thing nosed its way over to Lioska and sniffed at her. The wildclaw fell into a combat stance, as did Sunfall behind her. The creature’s eyes were just pools of deeper darkness.

“Stop that.” Frip stepped between Lioska and the guardian-thing. “This is Saria. She’s the product of an unholy union between two Shade abominations, and she’s also the newest member of our clan.”

“Um, no,” Aridatha said. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who decides that, and this thing is not – it’s not even a dragon.”

“Not for lack of trying,” Frip said. “She’ll get better at it, I promise.”

The creature lifted an uncertain paw and waved it vaguely in Lioska’s direction. Lioska snarled.

“Look,” Frip said. “She’s perfectly harmless. I brought her here precisely so that she could learn to be a dragon, instead of collapsing into the void as her parents and siblings have. She needs help, not scouring. Right now, she doesn’t know what she is, she doesn’t know what anything else is, and she really just wants somewhere warm to lie down and maybe some food. Yes, there’s every possibility that she’ll deteriorate into elemental, entropic nothingness, a cancer on our gods’ world that we must burn out. But it’s also possible that she’ll learn to love and be loved and bring a little joy to the world, redeeming her origins. I intend to give her a chance.”

“I don’t,” Aridatha said. “I’m sorry, Frip. It’s a nice speech, but it’s just too dangerous.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” Frip said, unbothered. “Which is why I asked Nesita to join us.”


	69. Chapter 69

“It … is kind of cute, I guess?” Nessa said, doubtfully, from the ceiling.

Nesita walked slowly into the chamber, having arrived at the most dramatically appropriate moment – just after Frip invoked her name. She was looking at the Shade-creature with something like pity in her eyes.

“Oh no,” Aridatha said, stepping between Nesita and the thing. “It is not cute, it’s a horrible abomination that should never see the light of day. And we’re not keeping it.”

“Mama?” said the creature, thrusting its head into Aridatha’s face. She swallowed its caustic scent, throat burning, and began to cough. _Harmless, Frip, really?_

“That’s not your mother,” Nesita said, pushing Aridatha aside as she approached the thing. “Do you even have a mother? Poor thing.”

“Where did you find this thing?” Aridatha asked Frip.

“Around.” The nocturne shrugged. “As I understand, the clan that produced her was … having trouble disposing of her properly. I offered to take her off their claws.”

“Disposing of her,” Nesita repeated, a paw resting on the Shade-creature’s side. Aridatha supposed that if they were going to discuss it, she might as well allow the thing a name. What had Frip called it? Zarya? No, Saria.

“We can’t keep it,” Aridatha reiterated. “It’s dangerous. And, frankly, kind of disgusting. Disturbing, too.”

“Mama?” said Saria, bending its – her – whatever – neck to examine Nesita.

“It’s just a baby,” Nesita said, patting the creature’s side. It did seem to be getting easier to look at, more dragon-shaped and less of a weeping scar in the air. Or maybe Aridatha was just getting used to it.

“She’ll get better at holding her form with practice,” Frip said, as if she’d read Aridatha’s mind. “Teaching her might be an interesting project for Elain – though I believe she uses a very different method of shape-shifting. Teaching her would be an interesting project for me, I suppose.”

“We’re not keeping it,” Lioska said. She put an arm out to stop Aridatha from getting any closer to the creature – or vice versa. “It’s not a dragon.”

“She can learn to be one, though,” Frip replied.

“It seems cruel to destroy her without giving her a chance,” Nesita said. “She hasn’t done anything wrong – she didn’t choose to hatch like this.”

“No, I would say Saria’s life choices lean downright draconic,” Frip said. “She’s certainly trying.”

A certain twist of tone on the last word made Aridatha wonder if Frip meant trying as in working hard or trying as in bothersome. Whose side was she on, anyway?

“I transcend sides,” Frip said, grinning at Aridatha. “Sorry. Cheap trick.”

“Don’t do it again,” Aridatha responded automatically, mentally filing away the incident for further contemplation later. At some point she’d have time to try and puzzle out Frip’s intentions; now was not that time.

“There is no reason to allow this thing into our home,” Lioska said, glaring at Frip. “You never should have brought it here in the first place.”

“Come on, Lia.” Frip put a claw to her chin as Lioska mouthed “Lia?” “Can you play devil’s advocate without a devil? Shade’s advocate, maybe, but that’s clearly my job. Anyway – she can be useful, perhaps uniquely so. Think of what a good lookout she’d make. Any outsiders approach and she can just goop ‘em up till someone tells her they’re safe.”

“That seems like a poor way to welcome guests,” Aridatha said, although she did find the image somewhat amusing. As they’d spoken, Saria had oozed closer to Nesita. The creature was now wrapped around the tundra, almost dripping down her fur. Nesita did not appear to mind.

“Might beat letting anyone wander in,” Frip said. “Look, I get the Nimbyism – we don’t have to quarter her near anyone else. She doesn’t need much, just a place to get out of the rain. I’m not even sure she actually eats. She’ll be out of sight most of the time – we could even dig her a burrow.”

“I would be willing to do that,” Nesita said, patting one of Saria’s sludgy paws.

“Not near the hatchery,” Lioska objected.

“No, that does sound like a bad idea.” Nesita smiled. “Certainly there are reasonable precautions to be taken. But I don’t think we need to reject Saria out of hand. It’s worth mentioning – if I know Bartos, he’ll be quite interested in studying this, Shade or no Shade.”

“Zarya, too, but she’s not nice about it,” Frip mused.

“Let’s talk about those reasonable precautions,” Aridatha said, and recognized that she’d lost the argument already.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frip takes Elain to the Karyukai Masquerade Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not strictly canon.

“Hey, Elain.” A head poked into the hut where Elain sat talking quietly with one of the unassigned harpies. The harpy was somewhat concerned about Luna, though she wouldn’t tell Elain why. The head was a nocturne’s, hooded, a dark plum purple. “Fly with me, would you? Bring your mask.”

“Who are you?” Elain said, rather rudely.

“Frip.” The dragon apparently considered that all the introduction she required. She turned away and fluttered off the slope, calling back, “Come on, it’ll be fun! It’s not like you have anything else to do.”

Well, she had her there. Elain said her goodbyes to the harpy and slid down the ridge after Frip, half walking and half flying. She was in harpy form at the moment, but even as she exited the familiars’ area, her body betrayed her, billowing out into a dragon. She struggled to return to one of her preferred shapes, finally coalescing into a centaur after what felt like forever.

Frip had stopped to wait for her and said only, “You’re going to need wings again.”

Humiliated and angry – she did not like to be observed as she transformed, and staring at her seemed to be all these dragons ever did – Elain brushed past Frip and continued on, despite having no idea what their intended destination was. Frip overtook her in a minute and led her to one of the great tree-structures that housed this clan.

“Up here.” The nocturne hopped into the second story of the building and turned to wait for Elain. Sliding back into her dragon form, Elain clambered up. “Harpy shape is the order of the night, I believe.”

“It’s not night,” Elain pointed out, automatically argumentative. She settled on the windowsill and looked around. Frip’s room was … It didn’t stick in her mind; even as she looked at it she couldn’t describe it.

“It will be.” Frip picked her way across the room and picked up a piece of glittery golden fabric. “Sorry about the mess. We’re lazy tonight.”

“You’re a strange dragon,” Elain said.

“So are you,” said Frip, not offended in the least. “Here.”

The fabric was a dress. It was a beautiful dress, one that seemed perfectly tailored to fit Elain’s harpy form.

“How did you get my measurements?” Elain asked.

“I know everything,” Frip said. Elain did not consider that an explanation at all, but her attention was soon diverted as Frip shifted into a two-legged form of her own. She retained draconic rather than beastclan features, her face wrinkled like a nocturne’s, crystalline scales twinkling across her skin. She had spiky silver hair, covered by her hood, and wore a white robe of dazzling brilliance.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” Elain said, trying desperately to conceal a rush of jealousy, because Frip was clearly a more skilled shape-shifter than she was.

“I know.” Frip picked up a white mask off of a shelf, or maybe it was a table. She put it on and turned to a tall mirror. “I’m stealing this bit, you’ll note, but we don’t feel like flying all across Sornieth. It’d surely dishevel us.”

“What?” Elain watched as the reflection in the mirror wavered, shook, and burst into a thousand tiny spots of color. The colors ran and mingled for a moment, and then came back together into a new image: a grand chamber, shining and golden, filled with color and light.

“Let’s go, then,” Frip said, grinning, “before we think better of it.”

And she stepped through the mirror, its surface rippling around her like water. Elain stared long enough that a purple hand had to emerge from the mirror and beckon her on.

“I hope you’ll save me a dance,” Frip said, taking Elain’s hand as she entered the ballroom. “I hope you’ll save me quite a few dances, in fact.”


	71. Chapter 71

“You did quite an impressive job of side-tracking me the other night,” Acrux said.

“Didn’t I?” said Telyn without looking up. She was tracing out a star chart, for reasons Acrux knew not.

“What did you mean when you said this project was over?”

Telyn held up the chart to the light. Being imperial-sized, it could have completely covered a smaller dragon. “I no longer intend to seek influence through my children. The futility of this exercise has become clear to me.”

“What changed your mind?” Acrux said, biting back the first response to occur to him, which was that she ought then have no further need of him.

“I do not desire innumerable offspring; I prefer to keep my lineage brief.” Telyn might not mean that as a slight. Still, hearing it, Acrux was acutely aware that he had many children by other dragons, and that he had very little idea what had become of most of them. Not that Telyn could reproach him for his previous relations, which had been arranged for the clan’s benefit – he had even had a nest with Zarya, before he’d become familiar with the mirror’s more unpleasant qualities. No, it was quantity and not quality that Acrux might blush for – there was something untidy and poorly-managed about it.

“So you don’t intend to breed again?” It wasn’t really Acrux’s affair, unless she decided to join her blood to his again. She’d chosen Iburel once before, and Acrux wondered if she simply wished to move on. He wasn’t sure he would regret it if she did. But if she did wish to terminate their relationship …

“Not for the foreseeable future,” said Telyn, and with her gifts, quite a lot was foreseeable. She seemed to anticipate Acrux’s next concern: she continued, “We may partition our quarters, if you wish. As we remain this clan’s most powerful psychics, I would prefer that we still work together.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather work with Frip?”

“I couldn’t fit into her room.”

“Somehow, I suspect she’d find a way to make it work.”

Telyn laughed. “That she would. But in truth, I suspect Frip draws her powers from a different source than we do. We have our own personal talents. Frip … does not hold the same place in this world that we do.”

Acrux frowned. Should he pursue that topic, or would he simply get sidetracked again? Every other sentence Telyn uttered seemed to be a lure, tempting him to turn from his intentions and not ask his mate – former mate – any difficult or truly pertinent questions. Was that intentional?

“I know the real reason you’re not moving out,” Acrux said. “You couldn’t live without my handy inventions.”

“Such concerns have factored amongst my decision-making,” Telyn admitted, as with a perfect sense of dramatic timing, a bell dinged among the room’s clockwork and a coppery arm extended with a steaming cup of hot tea for her. Taking it, Telyn laid her chart aside. “I admire you, Acrux, for all that we may disagree at times. Your insight is different from mine, and it naturally follows that you take a different path with it.”

“You mean I try to help people and you don’t,” Acrux said flatly.

“I can offer no aid to those whose fates are already settled. And the future is quite a convoluted spiderweb. The actions you intend to avert disaster may cause it themselves.” Telyn put her cup down, her empty eyes watching Acrux carefully. “Ignorance being bliss … If, say, Elain’s destiny is to end her life on Zarya’s operating table, is it truly kind to burden her with that knowledge beforehand?”

Acrux’s teeth clenched. “You said you considered that possible future unlikely.”

“Only an example, my dear.” _Now, don’t you have better things to do?_ Telyn turned away.


	72. Chapter 72

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quartermaster Isildur informs clan leader Aridatha that a surplus of resources begins to exceed the available storage space, and suggests increasing the clan’s exports as a possible solution.

“There is, I fear, one problem,” Isildur said, carefully marshaling her sheaf of notes, precise and delicately-formed numbers that detailed the clan’s input and output of nearly every material imaginable. Delemont’s hunting, Zura’s gathering, Luna’s beastclan ransoms, Illyan’s printing supplies, Zarya’s bones, Bartos’ library, Barholme’s crystals: all found their quantitative representation amongst Isildur’s records.

“Are we running low on supplies?” Aridatha said. She could hardly imagine it, since she could see the sprawling hoard building from her own windows, but perhaps there had been some shortage among the minutiae that she hadn’t picked up on.

“No. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Isildur turned her delicate head to gaze out the window at her own domain, the aforementioned hoard. “We possess considerable surpluses of many resources. So much so that they are beginning to occupy more space than can be justified by their utility. I believe the problem is becoming particularly acute when it comes to housing the living creatures we have captured, though that is not strictly my department.”

“Geras did mention something along those lines.” Aridatha sighed. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“Trade would seem the obvious solution,” Isildur said. Aridatha gave the skydancer a wary look – had that been an insult? Aridatha was a busy dragon; she could not be expected to think of everything, or, frankly, to even devote thought to everything when she had a perfectly good deputy to think of plans for her … Neither could she waste energy on such a petty slight, though. “While we are hardly starving for funds, it will do no harm to convert some of our excess into ready cash. The only difficulty is transportation: for all the advantages it holds, this lair is rather geographically remote.”

Aridatha nodded. “So we need to put together a trading expedition. I can call up Rakgi, or Lailyn or Wanderer …”

Her voice trailed off as she considered the unsuitable traits of each of those candidates. Rakgi had made market runs before, and he had never proven a very savvy bargainer; under his supervision, they’d be lucky to get half the value of their merchandise. Wanderer and Lailyn would do better on that front, but the former was untrustworthy and might very well keep the earnings for himself – or squander them on foolish amusements before he returned. While Lailyn lacked these egregious faults, she was an ornery skydancer – getting her to accept the role would take some effort, considerable coaxing.

“Maybe Moros would be amenable?” Aridatha wondered aloud. She didn’t know the older ridgeback very well; Moros had lain low ever since the shameful revelation that she’d shirked her duty to aid in moving the hoard during the clan’s transition to their new lair. Truly, the best thing Aridatha could say of Moros was that she had not recently caused any trouble, though she had heard stories from before her tenure … But maybe she would welcome the chance to make up for her earlier lapse.

“That is not precisely what I had in mind,” Isildur said. “Quite apart from any questions of … individual qualifications, I envisioned a rather more regular and permanent arrangements.”

Aridatha waited for the quartermaster to continue, and she did not. Looking the skydancer in the eye, Aridatha sighed again, rather more meaningfully this time. Why was everyone in this clan so Shade-cursed _dramatic_? “I’m not going to ask you what your plan is, Isildur.”

“In a way, you just did,” Isildur said, smirking slightly.

“Spare me the semantics.”

Isildur opened her mouth, examined Aridatha’s expression, closed it, tilted her head, and after a moment’s silence finally said, “Rather than push the job off on whichever unskilled clan members happen to be available, I would propose that we add a specialized, experienced trader to our clan’s workforce.”

Aridatha considered the suggestion for a few seconds. “That does leave us with the problem of recruiting such an individual.”

“I have some leads,” Isildur said. “I am aware of a few nomadic merchants currently passing through our area; it would not be difficult to contact them and see if any of them are interested in a more permanent gig. And, of course, there’s Frip. I have not raised the subject with her, but somehow I am certain that she has advice to offer.”

Of course: nothing happened in this clan that Frip didn’t know about and insinuate herself into.

“If no suitable candidates present themselves locally, we could always mount an expedition to a central market with an eye towards crafting such a partnership.”

“Very well,” Aridatha said. “It sounds like you have a handle on this. Can I expect you to do this contacting and Frip-asking? Let me know when you have some potential newcomers lined up.”

Isildur’s face constricted in a slight frown. “I suppose this would not be an opportune time to mention that I myself have been considering a change of employment?”

“What do you mean?”

“Cypress and Illyan’s literary project intrigues me.” Isildur picked carefully through her notes until she found evidence of that project: the as yet highly provisional newspaper. Aridatha had not kept the closest eye on it, except to scrutinize Illyan’s requests for supplies, but it seemed to be in the throes of huge design overhauls – sometimes several a day. “They would benefit immensely from conscientious oversight from someone with a firm grip of syntax.”

“You’d leave the hoard unmanaged? To devolve back into its prior state?”

As transparent as it was, the appeal to Isildur’s fastidious nature worked: the skydancer grimaced. “No. I … will remain at my current post as long as the clan needs me. But I hope you will not mind if I endeavor to find a successor as well as a new coworker.”

Aridatha nodded. “That seems reasonable. Keep me informed, all right?”

“Of course.” Isildur was intelligent enough to recognize this as a dismissal, and she departed, taking her notes with her.


	73. Chapter 73

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aridatha, Lioska, and Isildur interview two candidates for the much-needed jobs of taking the clan’s goods to market: Boolean and Nilith.

Lioska entered Aridatha’s room just as the pearlcatcher put away yet another letter from Barholme that she could barely understand, packed as it was with obscure magical and theological terms – and with its lines of text crawling chaotically across the page, without rhyme or reason, at one point forming an actual spiral.

“Isildur asked me to remind you of our scheduled meeting,” Lioska said.

Aridatha blanked for a moment, then remembered. “Oh, yes. The traders. She had some candidates she wished for us to meet, yes?”

Lioska nodded. “For security reasons, I’ve arranged to evaluate them a little ways outside the lair.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Aridatha was not naïve; she knew that untrustworthy dragons roamed the land. Arcanist, she knew of a few of them in this very clan. But an attack by the prospective traders seemed so unlikely, so illogical – why bother? What would they gain?

“Better safe than sorry.” Lioska shrugged, an elegant motion of the wings, and gestured for Aridatha to proceed her out of the room. As they walked through the trees, heading up out of the depression, between the ridges that ringed the lair like a mother’s arms, Lioska asked, “Did you read Isildur’s notes about the traders she’s contacted?”

“Did you? Refresh my memory.” The documents might have successfully made their way to Aridatha’s pile of readings – she might even have actually perused them. But if so, they’d made little impression, and she could now recall nothing of them.

“There are two whom Isildur considers our most likely recruits.” Lioska was watching Aridatha, she could tell – evaluating how much information had slipped past the clan’s leader, how reliable she really was. It made Aridatha tense, defensively, though if there was one dragon she could admit her exhaustion to, it should have been Lioska. Or Nessa, but Lioska was more likely to have useful advice and not just sympathy. “One is Boolean, a nocturne. She is flightless, but travels Sornieth on foot, buying and selling as she wanders.”

“On foot?” Aridatha frowned. “Wouldn’t it take her ages to get to and from the market?”

Lioska shrugged. “The question does occur, but you will have to ask it to Boolean herself.”

“All right. Who’s the other one?”

“Nilith. Isildur provided little information about them, which is … uncharacteristic. They – and it’s they, not she – have offered to escort spare familiars to market.”

“Something we badly need, if Geras’ reports – and increasingly strained voice – are anything to go by.”

“Yes.” Something in Lioska’s tone suggested that she had more to say, but she fell silent instead, and by the time Aridatha finished considering whether to ask her to elaborate, they had arrived.

Isildur perched delicately in the branches of a sparkling Starwood tree. Under the tree curled a pink ridgeback, head tilted back to peer up at the skydancer, while an orange nocturne sat beside a small, overstuffed wheeled cart. That was probably Boolean – that cart didn’t look like it’d make it into the air, and her wings were disproportionately small, unable to support her weight.

“Howdy!” the ridgeback said. For some reason, this greeting made Isildur narrow her eyes. “The name’s Nilith. You’re the big bug round here, yeah? I hear y’all’ve a hankering for somebody to run some varmints up to market.”

For a moment there was totally silence, broken only by muffled giggling from the nocturne, Boolean, who had pressed a callused fore-talon to her face. Aridatha looked at Isildur, then at Lioska, and finally back to Nilith.

“What?”

“I said – ”

“We heard what you said,” Isildur inserted, her voice tight with annoyance. “But no one here knows what those words mean.”

“Isildur … ” Aridatha trailed off, unsure how to phrase the many things she wanted to ask. Or, at least, unsure how to frame them without offending Nilith. Truly, the ridgeback’s existence and dialect filled Aridatha with more general confusion than any coherent questions. Isildur had to have known they communicated like this, didn’t she, if she’d recruited them by letter? Then she had no one but herself to blame for the colorful phrasing she’d just sat through. And yet she seemed considerably vexed.

Lioska, meanwhile, had gone stony-faced, so much so that even Aridatha, who knew her best, couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

Aridatha decided to set aside the question – the many questions – of Nilith for now. She could at least give herself some time to think. “Thank you. As I understand it, you’re here to deal with our familiars. That issue is a little more complex than moving inanimate objects, so I’d like to deal with Boolean first, if you’d be kind enough to wait.”

“Sounds fine as gravy cream to me. I don’t mind hanging fire for a bit.” Nilith looked at Boolean, who at least seemed to have mastered her sense of humor. “Here’s hoping you make a mash, you winsome trat. I know I’d be all-overish going first.”

“Thank you?” Boolean said, only the slightest note of question in her voice. Clearly, she was struggling to figure out whether she ought to be insulted. Aridatha felt a similar confusion but she could only assume that Nilith had indicated assent and move on.

“Boolean, I don’t want to insult you, but wouldn’t not being able to fly considerably hinder you in traveling Sornieth?”

“I can see how you would think that.” Boolean’s stunted wings waved gently as she spoke. “And it’s true: I’m not that fast. But I didn’t get the impression that you were in a particular hurry. And, by walking instead of flying, I can drag with me far greater loads than a dragon of my size would be able to carry in the air.”

Isildur broke in. “Boolean’s records do show a remarkably efficient profit, despite her increased transit time. She appears quite adept at bargaining to receive optimal prices for her goods. Of course, these records could be falsified, but if I thought her mendacious, I would not have summoned her here.”

“Well, if Isildur speaks for you, I trust her judgment. Unless Lioska has any other concerns?” Aridatha turned to her friend, but Lioska appeared lost in thought and didn’t immediately respond. “Lioska?”

“Sorry.” The wildclaw shook her head, refocused, and examined Boolean closely for a moment. “Ah, yes. While I see no signs of ill intentions from you specifically, I have some doubts about entrusting any stranger with our clan’s goods and funds.”

“Reasonable, but I’m not sure what I can give you, beyond my word.” Boolean shrugged. “I sent Isildur my references. And, considering that I don’t move that fast – and tend to stick out, being flightless – I’m sure that if I did run off with your stuff, you could track me down pretty easily.”

“True.” Lioska looked at Aridatha. “Boolean seems quite qualified to me. And admirably level-headed.”

“That’s settled, then,” Aridatha said. “Boolean, you’ll be working with Isildur here – she’ll have all the inventories of what’s salable and so on. If you’d like to go ahead and meet some of the clan, take a look at the hoard, whatever, the lair’s that way, between the ridges. You can’t miss it. Isildur, maybe you should show her the way. You could even get started.”

Isildur was the expert on the clan’s stock, but she seemed to have already taken a dislike to Nilith, so perhaps it would be best if she were absent for this interview. Though, since Nilith would be working with Isildur, that animosity alone might disqualify them … But Isildur shook her head. “I would prefer to remain. I’m certain Boolean can find her way to the lair without me. As you say, it is rather difficult to overlook.”

Boolean glanced between Aridatha and Nilith. If she had to guess, Aridatha would have said that she was considering whether it was worth sticking around for the entertainment value of Nilith’s colorful speech. But she apparently concluded no – or that she’d have plenty of time for that later – for she took up her cart, thanked Aridatha, and trundled off into the woods.

Well, now there was nothing else for it. Aridatha took a deep breath and turned to face Nilith, who sat expectantly, bright-eyed, under the tree. They were Arcane, Aridatha noticed, though this fact didn’t seem significant to their behavior.

“You done?” the ridgeback said. “Phew! Nothing against y’all, but what a load of wobbling jaws. Now, I ain’t no bunko artist, I ain’t looking to chisel you, but I can set with it if y’all want to copper your bets here. I don’t care a continental how y’all satisfy yourselves that I’m sound on the goose, but let’s bobtail her and fill her with meat, yeah? I’m played out just listening to y’all.”

Another moment of baffled silence: Nilith seemed quite adapt at eliciting those. But how well would they really be able to work with the clan – or bargain at market – if no one could understand what they were saying?

“Nilith, I’m sorry, but we find your speech … mystifying – at least I do,” Aridatha said. Lioska and Isildur nodded in agreement. “And I’m not sure how we can entrust you with our clan’s resources if we don’t know what you’re talking about most of the time.”

Nilith’s face fell. They opened their mouth, then closed it, obviously unsure what to say. Aridatha felt sorry for them; she hadn’t expected them to look so sad when she pointed out their impenetrable vocabulary. Surely they _knew_ how they came across? Surely someone had told them before; surely they realized that most dragons had no idea what these phrases meant.

“I’ll level with y’all,” Nilith said finally. “I love being all yeehaw and Simon pure, but if I have to throw up the sponge, I can shoot – er, talk – straight with the rest of y’all.”

Aridatha didn’t know what to say to that, but Isildur muttered, “Better,” in a begrudging tone.

“I will take your animals to market, I will get good prices for them, and I will bring y’all back the money. Not sure what I can say plainer than that.” Nilith looked between Aridatha and Lioska. “Ask me any questions you need to, and I’ll do my level best to answer ‘em.”

“It does strike me that, if Nilith were to abscond with our beasts, we would scarcely be any worse off than we are now,” Lioska said. “We gain nothing by not selling, but if they are stolen, at least we don’t have to feed and house them anymore.”

“I ain’t going to shin out – er, run off – with your stock or your actu – treasure.” Sounding anxious, almost unnerved, Nilith looked up at Isildur. “I known you ain’t cottoned to me much, but I can only pray I haven’t woke the wrong passenger here. I’ll acknowledge the corn: I’m not of the first water, but I’ll die standing up and go through the mill as well as any shave tail.”

Isildur sighed at this sincere-sounding, if still incomprehensible, confession. “Worse.”

“There’s not many who can speak for me, and I’m no flannel mouth, but I’ll get afly – uh, I’ll learn – and I’m a bang-up dickerer – I mean, a good bargainer. I may be at sea, but I do need this job something dreadful. Not exactly flush right now, if you know what I mean.”

“I really don’t,” Aridatha began, and Nilith raised two claws and rubbed them together in the apparently universal sign for money. “Ah. Well, I see no reason we shouldn’t at least give you a chance, but this shouldn’t be a unilateral decision.”

Aridatha turned to Lioska and Isildur. Lioska raised her head, giving Nilith a skeptical look, but said only, “I would like to get this resolved and the actual _sales_ started. If that means taking a potentially imperfect candidate … ”

Isildur sighed again. “Fine. I will accept Nilith as a clan-mate and co-worker on one condition.”

“What is it?” Nilith said hopefully.

Isildur fluttered down off her branch to land before Nilith’s eyes, staring into them. “Don’t talk like that before me. Out on the road I don’t care how many ‘y’alls’ and ‘ain’ts’ you feel the need to employ, but in my hoard, we speak with respectable syntax.”

Was Nilith nervously avoiding Isildur’s gaze? Aridatha couldn’t tell from where she sat. “All right … caporal.”

Isildur rolled her eyes. “I suppose it’s well enough that I’m seeking a new position presently. Aridatha, we may now proceed.”


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isildur, Aridatha, and Lioska recruit Freya as Clan Lukra’s new quartermaster, so that Isildur can move on to her desired role as editor of Cypress’ newspaper.

Looking at the letter on her desk, Aridatha wondered briefly, and pointlessly, if she ought to take Isildur’s preference for written communication as a sign of dislike rather than an instrument of efficiency. It would not greatly surprise her if so; as far as she’d seen, Isildur didn’t particularly like anyone. Were Aridatha inclined to be negative, she might have suggested that Isildur viewed her fellow dragons with all the passion and affection she showed towards the objects she managed in the clan’s hoard, but Isildur wasn’t insensitive to others’ needs and emotions; she simply took little interest in them. If it were personal distaste behind Isildur’s tendency to send letters rather than speak face-to-face, Aridatha hardly could have faulted her for it, considering the efficiency with which she did the unenviable job of tracking and organizing such a mess of resources. Aridatha didn’t need her quartermaster to like her, just to get the work done.

But if it were personal distaste, Aridatha imagined that Isildur would not send letters inviting her to in-person meetings, as she had the day before. Actually, she could wish that more dragons would give notice and schedule appointments when they had concerns, rather than seeking her out at any hour of the day, without notice, no matter what important and unwise-to-interrupt task she might be engaged in at the time.

Isildur’s concern today was her own retirement. The skydancer had long since expressed interest in leaving her own post to work at Cypress’ budding newspaper – now all the more important to the clan since they had word of plague to spread to the rest of Sornieth. Since the prospect of ever stepping into an untended hoard – one that had returned to its sprawling, chaotic, pre-Isildur state – Aridatha had asked the quartermaster to retain her role until she could find someone else to replace her. Now, apparently, she had. But, of course, Aridatha had to meet this stranger before potentially offering them such a vital role in her clan.

Lioska would be there as well, for security, though Aridatha wasn’t sure what kind of threat she really anticipated – she found herself questioning Lioska’s “security” measures more than ever now, after the clan had faced a threat that all of Lioska’s supposed hard work had failed to protect them from. Not that she blamed Zeal on Lioska, of course not; she simply wondered what the point of caution was, now that they’d seen how easily friends could be torn away …

Aridatha managed to shake such thoughts from her head as she headed out of the lair, towards the designated meeting point. She’d glanced into Lioska’s chambers on her way down from her own and found them empty, so she assumed Lioska would meet her there. Probably she was already there, as she tended to adhere more rigidly to punctuality than Aridatha. Something in the back of Aridatha’s mind – the same thing that had tried to extrapolate so ridiculously from Isildur’s letter – suggested feeling hurt, that Lioska had not made the walk with Aridatha, but there was certain to be a perfectly reasonable explanation that was not the simple and histrionic “she hates me now.” Perhaps Lioska had come directly from another task.

As she’d expected, Aridatha found both Isildur and Lioska waiting for her in the small clearing that comprised their meeting place. Between them sat a blue coatl with golden stripes running down her body. She was beautiful, sitting with her talons folded demurely before her.

The interview with the coatl, Freya, went well, and soon Aridatha and Lioska had both approved her as the clan’s new quartermaster. Aridatha returned to her quarters thinking that whatever Isildur had thought of her before, she’d be more pleased now: though she wasn’t a highly emotional dragon, Aridatha could tell she was quite satisfied at shedding her unwanted post. Not that it was completely shed quite yet – Isildur still had to help Freya get settled in and learn her systems of organizing the hoard. But soon Isildur could edit to her heart’s content. And, knowing Isildur, that would be quite a lot of editing.


	75. Lukra, the Place of Answers

Slowly but surely, Clan Lukra began to gain a certain reputation. It was only a few dragons, at first, who arrived hoping to find answers for their questions, questions that varied wildly in nature. Some desired portents for the future, some secrets of the past; some simply wanted to better understand the present. While Machine answered all the questions he could, not everyone left him satisfied; yet some of those who did not occasionally found that others among Clan Lukra held the information they sought. Sometimes Bartos’ library could answer a question of fact or history; sometimes Acrux’s clairvoyance whispered the answers to him. Sometimes Frip happened to swoop in with her own particular, idiosyncratic knowledge.

So dragons got their answers, many of them, and they went home and told others, and those others told others, and Clan Lukra got a reputation that built into something entirely different from a small group of scholars living in the woods.

They became Lukra, Home of Oracles, the Place of Answers.

More dragons came, quickly outnumbering Clan Lukra themselves. Rules had to be established about who could see the Oracles and when; rules that became far stricter after the first attempt to snatch Machine and run off with him, barely foiled by Lioska and Delemont. The ridges that surrounded the clan lair were fortified, and only trusted clan members permitted to live inside. This became the Inner Sanctum. The rest had to camp outside the ridges, and while they camped they traded, and diced, and needed food and water and other accommodations. The trader Boolean and quartermaster Freya took advantage of this trade to make the clan wealthier; such wealth attracted bandits and others who would prey upon such a clan, requiring further fortifications and military support. New dragons, such as Talise, joined the clan as guards. Other newcomers served other functions: the innkeeper Ammanas and chef Treat to help serve the needs of the visiting dragons, while Calana joined to carry the Starwood Chronicle to its greatly expanded readership, who needed the information within.

After all, information _was_ Lukra’s stock in trade.


	76. Chapter 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Sornieth changes, pilgrims seek answers from Lukra’s Oracles. Achzina, Machine, and Acrux have few to offer, but Frip steps forward.
> 
> (Bounty of the Elements response.)

“Sornieth is in chaos!” cried the imperial. “The mountains surge, the Crescendo vanished, the Armistice is broken – the Tidelord himself has fallen silent! There are even rumors of an Emperor! What answers can your Oracles provide? We must have answers! We need answers!”

“We have nowhere else to turn,” added a ridgeback, more softly, sadly.

“Have the gods abandoned us?” demanded the imperial.

“No,” Machine said, and for a moment there was silence. Achzina looked at his fellow Oracles, trying not to appear nervous. They had quite a crowd of pilgrims today, more unified and more agitated than usual – understandable. The questants seemed to have selected the golden imperial as their spokesdragon, but Achzina saw dragons of all breeds and flights in the crowd, hungry for answers. And he had none to give.

“Then why is this happening?” the imperial asked. “What’s going on?”

Achzina had tried. As news of the calamities across Sornieth had trickled in, on the wings of messenger-birds and in scrying crystals, he’d focused his powers on these events, sought answers. But his visions had returned nothing but vague, splintered images of chaos. He could glean nothing useful from them, and feared that telling the crowd of his dark dreams would only drive them to greater panic.

Acrux looked at Achzina across the pavilion: all the Oracles were gathered today, and Bartos; anyone who might have some insight to offer. From the look on the pink-winged imperial’s face, though, Achzina could tell that Acrux didn’t expect much. He might already be making contingency plans, just in case the crowd got wild, though Achzina didn’t even want to think about that possibility. He wanted to believe that this congress of reasonable, rational dragons would have a reasonable, rational response to the lack of news. But …

The crowd rustled with whispers like a forest in storm. Finally, Frip stepped forward.

“We don’t know exactly what’s happening,” she said, and noise erupted from the assembled dragons as they all tried to talk at once. Frip waited a moment, then shouted, “Quiet!”

The pavilion went silent. For a moment even the sound of the stream rushing by seemed to fade. Achzina thought he felt his own throat close off; even if he’d wanted to say something, he didn’t think he could.

“We know that there has been a powerful resurgence of elemental magic,” said Frip, into the silence. “We know that this is all part of the plan. This is not the end of days. Sornieth will endure and grow stronger for this. Many clans will rise out of each meter of ash. We will survive and flourish.”

For another long moment there was quiet, no one quite daring to speak. Then the golden imperial spokesdragon stepped forward. “Thank you, Oracle.”

“But what of the ash?” said the silver-winged ridgeback who’d spoken up before, even as many of the gathered dragons turned to leave, satisfied. “What about those who are lost, and their families? Their grieving clans?”

“There is always ash,” Frip said, her tone darkening. “Lose. Grieve. And then rebuild. That never changes.”

The ridgeback hesitated. “And you have no insight that could save us? Nothing we can take back to our clans, to tell us where the next disaster may strike?”

Frip turned away. “No. Now go.”

The pilgrims went.


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long after her capture in battle, Ritha the mith finds herself bought to Clan Lukra, where [Geras](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=94713&did=6947922) and [Luna](http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=94713&tab=dragon&did=13513042) talk to her and her fellow captives about the conditions under which the clan purchases beastclan captives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: human (or beastclan) trafficking, indentured servitude, brief slavery mention

“I surrender.”

 

Ritha’d woken up every day since with the bitterness of those words on her lips, and today was no exception.

 

Overwhelmed, her allies and friends slain, she’d had no choice. She’d known her noble death would be useful to no one. But the shame of surrender still rankled. It bothered her almost more than the practical considerations of her imprisonment: her treatment was indifferent rather than cruel, as she’d been passed from one group of captors to another. They fed her and did not harm her, and that was about all she cared about at this point.

 

“Look alive, beasties!” A dragon’s claws rattled against the bars of the cage-wagon Ritha shared with a couple centaurs and a bright-eyed Serthis. Ritha had spoken little of the dragons’ tongue when she’d first been captured, but one of the centaurs had boredly helped her pick it up, more out of desire for something to do than concern for her. “We’re coming into market at Lukra, where hopefully we’ll get some of you squared away.”

 

Ritha looked at her centaur tutor, who shook his head: he didn’t know what the dragon meant by “squared away” either. She had not had much chance to negotiate the terms of her surrender at the time, and even if she had, that surrender had been offered to an entirely different group of dragons. Nor had she given much consideration to what she expected to become of her once she surrendered -- there were many bad options -- but she would like to get back to her family someday. They probably thought she was dead. Sometimes Ritha imagined their joy at her return, shameful surrender or no shameful surrender; it was a nice thought, a hopeful thought, even though it would have been better never to have left at all.

 

The dragons parked the cage-wagon behind a small but busy market and threw up their tents. Most of them dispersed into the market, leaving the captives to contemplate the area. Great curves of pink crystal rose from the woods nearby. Ritha noted with faint approval that the market was built around -- and in a couple cases into -- the surrounding trees, rather than cutting them down. Her people had great respect for such forest behemoths, which could house an entire tribe of miths in their spreading branches.

 

The dragons came and went, came and went; Ritha recognized the pattern from other groups who transported her, from the last stop where they’d traded for her. They were glad to leave the wilds and come to a market where they could mingle with others and do business, be it personal or as part of their trading group. They seemed more excited about this particular place, but Ritha couldn’t discern the reason for their interest: they used a word that neither she nor her tutor recognized, something they wanted to see here. Well, it didn’t matter what it was; Ritha would not get to see it.

 

Though they kept irregular schedules, the dragons made sure that one of their number always stayed with the cart, ensuring that none of the beast-folk escaped. The other centaur, the one who had not taught Ritha language, suggested the idea once, but in an ambivalent way, clearly aware of its futility. The Serthis made a harsh, laughing sound, but perhaps this was unrelated: Ritha had been under the impression that she didn’t speak their tongues.

 

About a day after they came to market, two new dragons approached, individuals who were not part of this trading group. Both were the large, finned dragons who called themselves “guardians,” one with a yellow body and one blue and glittering. Ritha felt faint surprise to see beast-folk sitting on their backs -- a Serthis on the yellow one and a harpy on the blue -- though she had spotted other non-dragons moving freely around the market, weaving among the dragons on their own errands. Those individuals took little notice of the prisoners, though a few actively avoided their gaze. While this harpy didn’t seem interested in the cage either, the Serthis watched the captives with the flat, unemotional gaze Ritha had come to associate with her species.

 

The guardians accompanied the merchant group’s leader, a much smaller purple dragon with ice magic in his eyes, and as he came in earshot he was telling them, “ -- any trouble with any of them.”

 

“Good,” said the blue guardian, as both great horned heads examined the cage. “I think we have everything we need from you, Eirwen, with thanks; let us speak to the prisoners.”

 

The purple dragon nodded. “Of course.”

 

He hovered beside the two guardians as they approached the cage.

 

“Do any of you speak our tongue?” the yellow guardian asked.

 

Ritha and the two centaurs waved their hands to indicate they did. The caged Serthis did not respond.

 

“Very good,” said the yellow guardian. “I don’t believe any of us speak Mith, and my Centaur is poor. Well, then. I am Geras, beastmaster of Clan Lukra, and this is Luna, who sometimes assists me. My companion is Fee, and Luna’s is Cavern. Fee will translate for me, but Cavern is not involved in our business.”

 

Geras paused, and the Serthis Fee began to speak in her own hissing language, bearing out Geras’ claim that she would translate. Her words about Cavern seemed accurate as well: he appeared to be settling down for a nap curled in the sweater Luna wore. As Ritha wondered what it was like to have so few cares, the Serthis in the cage raised her head, but appeared bored or displeased with Fee’s words.

 

“We are looking for beast-folk whom we may ransom back to their tribes and families,” Geras said, her words slow and clear, as if she suspected their fluency in her language might be limited. Ritha might have found this patronizing, except that, well, her fluency in the dragons’ language  _ was _ limited. “We intend this to be a mutually beneficial arrangement: we get treasure, and you get to go home. While we correspond with your families, you will be permitted to live in our Sanctum in relative freedom, as long as you don’t cause trouble.”

 

“We find cages impractical for long-term habitation,” Luna added. Was that a sardonic note in her voice? “You’ll be allowed to manage yourselves and roam through our designated beastclan area, under Geras’ supervision. We’ll provide you with food, clothing, and other necessities.”

 

The dragons paused for a moment to allow Fee to translate all of this. The centaurs’ tails lashed as they considered the information; Ritha’s tutor turned to his companion and muttered a few words in their own language, earning a sad nod from them.

 

“In return for these freedoms, we expect you to remain peaceful and obedient until it’s time for you to leave us,” Geras said. The words rubbed Ritha the wrong way: she’d had these freedoms and more, without such conditions, until dragons had started encroaching on her home and she’d chosen to defend it. Then they’d struck down her friends and thrown her in a cage, and now they expected her to bargain for what scraps of independence they’d allow her?

 

Yes, they did, and those scraps were better than sitting in this cage forever, especially if it meant that eventually they’d send her home. Her family didn’t have a lot of treasure, but they’d scrape together, surely; and Ritha could only hope the dragons would take a low offer rather than have her sit around eating their food forever. Unless they decided to kill her, of course, but then they’d get no money, if that was truly what they were after.

 

Swallowing her pride, Ritha stood, rubbing her wings together, and said in her husky voice, “I would like to be ransomed back to my family.”

 

“Excellent,” Geras said. “We’ll be happy to do so.”

 

“You know where they can be found?” Luna said, apparently a bit more skeptical. “And you’ll agree to behave until we reach a settlement with them?”

 

“Yes,” Ritha said.

 

“We’ll make arrangements with Eirwen for you,” Geras said. She turned her attention to the other members of the cage, and Ritha sat back, simultaneously relieved and miserable. Promising to “behave” tasted like surrendering all over again, but she’d already given up her honor as a proud mith warrior when she’d decided to survive instead of dying nobly, so what did it matter now? At least now she had some hope of seeing her family again.

 

“We have no family to reclaim us,” the male centaur said, solemn. “After the raids … we only have each other.”

 

Geras hesitated, glanced at Luna. “If you’re interested in working for us, we can still take you, but it’s your choice.”

 

“Working how?” asked the other centaur. “If you want us in the mines …”

 

Geras shook her head. “We don’t have mines. I won’t promise you no manual labor, but we can work with your skillset. We can use translators, scholars, performers, diplomats, artists. Also gardeners, cooks, cleaners. You could help our quartermaster sort through our hoard, or our innkeeper keep track of guests. You’ll get room and board as well as a treasure stipend, depending on the work you do. If you want to save that and ransom yourself -- buy your freedom back -- that’s your right.”

 

The male centaur snorted, stomping a hoof. “We’ve heard this song and dance before -- we’ll have to pay you back for all our food and lodging, yes? So we’ll be more in debt to you every day, and never pay it off.”

 

Again, Geras shook her head. “We don’t charge you for room and board, any more than we charge those who are waiting for ransom and not working. If you want to earn treasure, you have to work, but nobody goes into debt. If you wish, once we’ve discussed pricing with Eirwen, we can give you an estimate of what your ransom price would be. I’m not the one who does the math -- that’s Freya -- so I can’t give you a final figure, but once we do give you that number, it won’t change.”

 

“If you make trouble, we reserve the right to kick you out,” Luna added. “We’ll trade you to another caravan for what we paid for you, or lower if you’re real trouble. But you’ll be free to take any treasure you’ve saved with you.”

 

_ And have the dragons in  _ that _ caravan snatch it away as soon as they get us in a cage _ , Ritha imagined. An incentive not to get kicked out, she supposed. Could she work for these dragons, earn some treasure, and then pay them to reduce the amount of ransom her family had to raise? She didn’t imagine they had much use for a warrior, but she could at least clean or sort things.

 

As Fee finished translating Geras’ words, the Serthis spoke up suddenly. Her hissing sounded angry, bitter, even though Ritha couldn’t understand what she said. Fee glanced up at Geras. “She wants to know why they should believe any of this, how they can know they won’t be slaves as soon as they step foot in the Sanctum.”

 

Geras’ fins fluttered, but clearly she’d fielded this question before, from the confidence of her answer. “I suppose you can’t really know anything but what we tell you, not until it’s too late. But it’s just an offer: if you don’t believe us, you don’t have to take it. Where are you stopping next, Eirwen?”

 

The purple dragon shrugged. “Moonvale, probably.”

 

“There’ll be another market in Moonvale,” Geras said. Her face twisted slightly, but Ritha didn’t know dragons well enough to know what emotion that indicated. “I can’t say what will happen to you there, or anywhere else. All I can tell you is what we do. Whether you believe us, that’s up to you.”

 

_ At least they asked _ , Ritha thought. The guardian sounded sincere, and somehow Ritha doubted that Moonvale, or any other buyers, would be so polite about making sure that their captives agreed to be bought. Certainly none of Ritha’s previous traders had made more than a cursory effort to consult her -- a couple had asked if she was trouble and barely listened to the answers. None of them had bothered telling her what they intended for her.

 

Fee translated this, and the Serthis turned away, hissing still. Again Fee looked up at Geras. “She isn’t interested.”

 

Geras nodded, then turned to the centaurs. “Are you?”

 

“Can we talk about it for a little bit?” asked the one who was not Ritha’s tutor. 

 

“Of course,” Geras said. She turned to Eirwen. “Let’s talk pricing -- a price for just the mith, and another for the mith and centaurs. When we get their answer, we’ll know which one to take.”

 

Eirwen nodded. “If you might step this way …”


End file.
